The Rose Enigma
by SquirrelWho
Summary: After faking his death Sherlock returns to find a mysterious blonde woman has taken over his life. She's living at Baker Street, consulting on crimes with Lestrade and appears to be working for Mycroft. When Moriarty's second in command seeks revenge, placing his friends in danger once again, Sherlock must discover if she is part of the web of criminals or someone else entirely.
1. The Other Consulting Detective

And I'm back after a huge stint of loads of work. I will be getting on with updates of my other stories within the next couple of days - in case anyone's wondering. :)

This, my dears, is another Roselock - in case you haven't guessed. It's at a higher T rating for crime descriptions and maybe some Rose/Sherlock stuffs later. Anyway - Enjoy! :)

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Sherlock stared out the window as the cab barreled down the road toward the crime scene. He'd been back for nearly a week during which he'd taken up residence in his old flat at 221 Baker Street, had all of his things moved from storage, reacquainted himself with John, and gone over the city, taking in the new details and committing them to memory. Knowing London had always proved invaluable when solving crimes.

Then he waited for the inevitable ring of his mobile that told him Lestrade had found out about his reappearance. He knew as soon as the inspector was informed Sherlock Holmes had returned to London he'd be overwhelmed by calls to help out on cases, after all before his disappearance he'd solved nearly all of London's crimes. Only, the phone didn't ring. Not the first day, nor the second, and by the fourth…well, he though perhaps word hadn't spread as fast as he hoped. So, he placed a call, only Lestrade wasn't in. There had been a murder and the inspector was at the crime scene.

Sherlock hopped into the first cab he found and now…the cab pulled up next to the police barricade. He paid the fare and then climbed out, smiling as he breathed in the late evening London air. Police lights, crime scene tape, a murder, all was right with the world.

Sergeant Donovan manned the barricade that separated him from the row of flats. He gave her a smile as he walked toward her, waiting for her shocked surprise at seeing he wasn't dead.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped.

So, she knew he was alive, which meant Lestrade knew. If the inspector knew then why hadn't he called? Must have been an oversight.

"I heard Lestrade was down here. Thought I'd pop by to lend a hand," he replied.

"We don't need your help."

"Why don't you get Lestrade on the line and check with him first? I'd hate to have him drive across town to find me only to realize I was here and you turned me away."

"Don't you think one consulting detective per crime scene is enough?"

One consulting detective? What did she mean by that?

"Sorry?"

"We already have…"

Lestrade stepped out of the flat. Sherlock ducked under the tape and hurried over before Donovan could stop him.

"Lestrade," he called as he raced toward the inspector.

Lestrade looked up as Sherlock hurried over. The inspector smiled.

"Sherlock," Lestrade greeted. "What're you doing here?"

"I called for you at the station and they told me you were down here. So, I thought I'd come down and led you a hand."

"Ah, well," the inspector fidgeted with his ear, a clear indication that he was uncomfortable. "I would've called you, but-"

"Oh, well, don't worry about it. I'm here now. I'll just…"

"Inspector," a woman said as she stepped out of the flat and walked toward them. Blonde. Petite. Hair pulled back and clipped up. Lipstick. Make-up. A detective? He hadn't seen her before. He glanced over her clothing. Blue shirt, cut a bit low, white jacket, jeans, trainers. No, she wasn't dressed like a detective. Lab tech? No, that didn't fit either. She glanced from him to the inspector. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt."

South London accent.

"You're not interrupting. I was just explaining to Sherlock," Lestrade began.

The woman seemed to light up at his name, giving him a smile.

"Sherlock Holmes?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. "And you are?"

Not that it really mattered, but depending on her job he'd likely see her again, as long as she wasn't an idiot, like Anderson.

"Rose Tyler," she said, offering her hand. He took her offering. "I've read…" her eyes shifted as if she said something she hadn't meant to, making him wonder. "…heard so much about you. You're brilliant."

"Yes, well…" he gave her a bit of a smile.

"More than brilliant. All those cases you've solved. You're just…" She glanced at her hand, which was still holding his. She released him, giving him a sheepish grin. He really did want to get on with solving the murder, but he could give her a moment or two. "Sorry, I'm going on, aren't I? It's just…it's not every day you meet…well…you."

"Quite all right. I understand," he replied, straightening his back and giving her a smile.

Lestrade cleared his throat, giving Sherlock a quizzical glance.

"Yes. Right. Sorry, inspector," Ms. Tyler replied.

No wedding ring, he noted. Good. Wait. Why was that good? He shook his head. Murder. Yes. He needed to get on with solving the murder.

"What did you find?" Lestrade asked.

Find? Sherlock glanced from the inspector to the woman.

"He wasn't killed here," she said.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. There are traces of salt water in his system, but none in tub."

"Salt water? He was drown in salt water?"

Was she a detective? She couldn't be…could she?

"Yes," she said.

"So, he was killed in the ocean?" Lestrade asked.

Killed in the ocean and then returned to his flat? That didn't make any sense.

"No. It wasn't sea salt."

"Why would someone drown him in salt water?"

That was a very good question.

"Salt water conducts electricity much better than fresh."

Oh, and that was a very good answer, but how could she knew why the killer used salt water?

"What? He was electrocuted?"

"Tortured, yes, with electricity, but I don't think the person who tortured him drown him," she said.

"Why do you say that?" Lestrade asked.

"Yes, why?" Sherlock inquired.

She caught the detective's gaze.

"I believe he was tortured, passed out, slipped under the water and drown. There's bruising on his arms and legs, which would fit with being in a confined area, like a tub of salt water, and struggling when he was electrocuted, but nothing on his neck, shoulders, or face."

Oh, she was clever. He almost smiled, but stopped himself, realizing she must be the other consulting detective. This blonde woman. She might be clever, but she was no match for him.

"Mind if I take a look?" he asked.

"I'd love for you to take a look," she said, giving him a smile and again he almost returned it. "Do you want me to…" She stepped toward the door, but he stopped her by raising his hand.

"I'd rather have a look on my own. Lestrade, if you don't mind."

"Be right back," the inspector said and then stepped in front of Sherlock and into the flat.

The detective followed Lestrade up the stairs, through an open door and across the flat of a man who obviously lived on his own. Discarded frozen dinners that had been eaten, but not thrown out littered the side tables, dishes were stacked up in the kitchen and a basket of laundered, but unfolded clothes sat on the table.

Two assistants had pulled the body from the tub and placed it on a gurney. They were about to push it into the kitchen when the inspector stopped them.

"Give us a minute," Lestrade said.

The two men stepped into the kitchen. Sherlock pulled his magnifying glass out and began inspecting the body. He noted the bruising on the sides of the man's legs and arms, as Ms. Tyler stated. No marks on the neck, shoulders, or face. There were circular burn marks on the chest, most likely from electrodes that were attached. Point of entry for the electricity, his means of torture.

"Who is she?" Sherlock asked without taking his eyes off the body.

"Sorry?" Lestrade inquired from the doorway.

"The woman. Who is she?"

He reexamined the face, neck, and shoulders.

"Rose?"

"Ms. Tyler. Yes."

No marks. Seemed Ms. Tyler was correct.

"What do you mean, who is she? You just met her."

"Yes, and I'm asking who she is."

He bent down and sniffed near the man's mouth. Salt water, as she said, but how could she be certain it wasn't sea salt? She must have been guessing.

"She's a consulting detective, been working with us-"

Sherlock sighed, snapping his magnifying glass closed as he eyed Lestrade.

"I know that," he interrupted. "You're working with her. Why? Where did you meet her?"

"You don't know?"

He narrowed his eyes. What did the inspector mean by that?

"What do you mean, I don't know? Why would I know?"

"Mrs. Hudson."

His landlady? What did she have to do with it?

"Mrs. Hudson? What about Mrs. Hudson?"

"Mrs. Hudson introduced us. Thought she might be able to help."

Sorry…what? How did Ms. Tyler know his landlady?

"Mrs. Hudson introduced you? How does Mrs. Hudson know her?"

"Rose rents the flat below yours."

Hang on. What? No, no that couldn't be true. He'd been back for four days and he hadn't seen Ms. Tyler.

"What? That…that can't be. I would've seen her."

"Maybe not. You've only been back a few days and she's been…working."

Working? What did that mean? She still had to come home if she was working, didn't she?

"Working?"

"I'm not sure. Some job for Mycroft."

Hang on…what? His brother? Mrs. Tyler was working for his brother? How did they know each other?

"Sorry…what? Mycroft? She was working for Mycroft?"

"Some assignment."

Assignment? A government assignment? She wasn't in the secret service, if she was she wouldn't be consulting on crimes with the police.

"What assignment?"

"I don't know. You'd have to ask her or your brother."

He'd spoken to Mycroft. Hell, his brother was the first one he went to when he returned. Mycroft hadn't said one word about Ms. Tyler.

"He didn't mention her."

"Does he typically mention the people who work for him?"

All right. Maybe he wouldn't have mentioned her, but it seemed strange. It was as if she'd taken over his life when he was gone. Mycroft, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Baker Street. There had to be a reason.

"No, but…she's worked for Mycroft and she works for you and she's living in the flat below mine…"

"Whatever you're thinking, just stop," the inspector said.

He caught Lestrade's eye, drawing his brow together.

"Sorry?" he asked.

"I've been working with her for seven months. She's a nice girl."

Yes, well, that's what she'd want people to think. Especially if she was planning something. She had invaded his entire life. Not just one part. All of it.

"Perhaps."

"Look, just don't get all…" Lestrade trailed off.

Sherlock eyed him.

"All what?" he asked.

"You know what I mean. Now, I'm going back out there. Come if you like, but be civil."

Oh, he was definitely coming. Murder was one thing, but Ms. Tyler, well, she was a mystery he had to solve before she enacted whatever plan she had in mind. Lestrade, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Baker Street, there were too many coincidences to ignore.

"I'm always civil," Sherlock replied as he followed the inspector back outside.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers! :)

**If you have time reviews are always welcome.**


	2. Unsafe Questions

Because first chapters are lonely. :)

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Sherlock was, well, exactly as Rose expected him to be, even down to his clothes. Black overcoat, scarf, polished shoes, slacks, white button-down shirt, suit jacket. He had that air of superiority that made him seem a bit self important, okay, more than a bit, but he had smiled.

She knew she acted like a girl with a crush, which wasn't like her, at least not for a long time, but meeting him was like being with the Doctor again and meeting someone she never thought she'd meet. After all, meeting Sherlock Holmes wasn't something she ever thought would happen, at least not before she wound up stuck on this parallel world where Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson weren't fictional characters, but real people.

She'd been there for nearly eight months. It took her three weeks to realize that there was no getting back home and this…this was now her life. Stuck in a world where aliens either didn't exist or chose to ignore Earth. If she hadn't accidentally piqued the interest of Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's brother, she might've wound up working in a shop. She shivered at the thought.

Lestrade stepped out of the flat followed by Sherlock. The detective gave her a look that reminded her of one the Doctor wore when he thought something suspicious was going on.

"Did you find something?" she asked as they walked toward her.

"Sorry?" Sherlock asked when he realized she was talking to him.

"The body?"

"Oh. That. No, he drown, salt water, as you said. Obvious signs of torture from electricity."

"I'm sending the body down for analysis, but I'll give you a call if they find anything," Lestrade said. "Thank you."

The inspector inclined his head and then turned around and headed back into the flat. She glanced at Sherlock who gave her a smile, but he appeared to be trying to figure something out.

"Well," she said. "It's been a long day so I'm just going to…" she gestured over her shoulder.

She wanted to go home, take a long bath, and then climb into bed. She'd only gotten back from that assignment a few hours ago. She got as far as removing her coat and then Lestrade had called.

"Oh. Right," Sherlock replied. "Um…mind if I share a cab since my flat's right above yours and all?"

"Not at all."

He fell into step beside her. She, unconsciously, wove her arm around his and only realized what she'd done when he tensed, as if he wasn't used to that sort of behavior. He gave her a sideways glance, making her laugh because it reminded her of both John and the Doctor. His brows drew together.

"Sorry," she apologized. "You just…remind me of someone."

"So," he said, lifting the police tape as they ducked their heads under it. "Consulting detective?"

"Yep."

"You don't look like a detective."

She laughed, earning another sideways glance.

"What do detective's look like?"

"I didn't mean-"

"It's the coat, yeah?" she asked, patting his arm, which made him glance at her. "I need a big coat. I'm not sure about black though."

He looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and confusion.

"No, I mean a consulting detective isn't a typical job," he corrected.

"You're one to talk." She gave him a smile that he almost returned. He was guarded. "Anyway, who wants a typical job?"

"Generally, most people."

She laughed.

"I'm not most people."

"Taxi!" he called raising his arm to hail a car.

A cab pulled up next to them. He opened the door and she slid in then he climbed in next to her, closing the door behind.

"221 Baker Street," he said.

"I had a normal job once, a long time ago." He glanced at her. "It seems like a lifetime ago." She gave him a smile. "Worked in a shop. Same thing every day. Get up, go to work, get home, eat dinner, go to bed. I hated it."

"Most people seem content with it," he replied.

"And they can have it." She glanced up at the night sky as the cab rumbled down the road. "There's so much more out there. I could never go back to that." She sighed, thinking about the Doctor and John and the life she'd given up. "Even now, even stuck…" she glanced at him, realizing what she almost said.

"Stuck? Stuck where? Here?" he asked.

"Never mind me. I'm just tired. Long day and all."

She glanced out the window, but she could feel his eyes on her and knew he was wondering what she was talking about and most likely wanted to question her about it, but she couldn't tell him. Couldn't tell anyone. Who would believe she was from a parallel world? That she'd been working on another dimension cannon after John's death. One that would take her back to her original universe, but things went a bit sideways and she wound up stuck there. No way forward. No way back. She sighed.

"Lestrade mentioned an assignment," Sherlock said.

He wasn't going to pursue the question of where and how she was stuck. Good. She turned back to him.

"It was only supposed to take a couple days, but some things can't be anticipated."

"For instance?"

"Mycroft told me about a group he thought was involved, but it turned out to be an inside job." He raised his brow. "Assassination. I'm sure you read about it."

His eyes widened.

"That was you?"

She laughed.

"Don't look so surprised. I know a thing or two about working out puzzles, been doing it for years."

The cab drew up next to 221. Sherlock paid the driver before Rose could reach into her pocket. He seemed, distracted, as if he was more interested in what she was saying than anything else. He opened the door and climbed out. She followed him and a few moments later he opened the door of 221. She stepped inside and he followed her down to the basement flat.

"So, you've been working as a consulting detective for years?" he asked as she unlocked her flat.

"No, only about seven months," she replied, opening the door and stepping inside.

He followed her in and then closed the door. She headed into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Her plan had been a bath and then bed, but a cuppa wouldn't hurt.

"But you've been working out puzzles for years?" he asked as he watched her fill the kettle and then put it on.

"Yes," she replied, glancing at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Working out how things happened and why. Stopping them if I could or fixing them or both."

"Murders?"

"A few, yeah, and disappearances, among other things."

"But not as a detective?"

"No. It was…different." She turned around and eyed him. "You're not like your brother."

Sherlock blinked, as if he hadn't expected her to say that, which he probably hadn't. It was the response she hoped for. He was digging too close to what she was hiding.

"No?" he asked.

"Not really."

"Is that good?"

"Definitely."

Sherlock smiled. The kettle boiled. She turned back and focused on making their tea. She needed to steer the conversation somewhere else. Somewhere safer, well, safer for her. She opened the refrigerator to grab the milk and that's when she saw it. The severed hand Molly brought over for her to test.

She grabbed the milk and quickly closed the door, glancing at him to make sure he didn't see anything. The last thing she needed was for him to think she was a serial killer. It wasn't as if she normally kept body parts in her icebox, but she'd been on that assignment for Mycroft and Molly needed her help so she told her friend to leave it in the refrigerator until she got back. She planned on testing it when she returned, but then Lestrade called and, well, now she was making tea. She returned the milk to the icebox, making sure Sherlock couldn't see anything.

"So…" he said after a few minutes of silence, "…you know Mrs. Hudson."

"Been living here for seven months. It was bound to happen."

She smiled as she handed him a cuppa and then headed into the living room. She heard him fall into step behind her.

"No, I mean did you know Mrs. Hudson before you rented the flat?" he asked.

She sat on sofa while Sherlock chose the chair across from her.

"I didn't know Mrs. Hudson until your brother introduced us."

His brow drew together and she wasn't sure if he was confused or annoyed, maybe both.

"Mycroft introduced you?"

"He knew I was looking for a place and he thought I'd like it here. He was right. It's nice and Mrs. Hudson, she's great."

"So, you met my brother first?"

Sherlock seemed to have a load of question. She didn't mind answering, as long as they were safe questions. There were things she couldn't share, like her past and how she could tell table salt from sea salt without running tests through a computer.

"That was an accident," she said.

"An accident?" he asked.

"I was coming out of a shop when I saw this posh bloke getting into his car."

"Mycroft."

"Exactly. This other bloke was running down the street. He grabbed your brother's briefcase and took off."

"And where do you come in?"

"I got it back."

"Mycroft's briefcase?" She nodded as she took a drink of her tea. "How?"

"With my mobile."

Okay, the other was his annoyed look this was definitely his confused face…or maybe that's baffled. She smiled.

"Sorry?" he asked, as if he must have heard her wrong.

"I threw my mobile. Hit him here…" She indicated the back of her neck at the base of her skull. Exactly where she would've hit a Sontaran to knock him out. "He went down and some bloke who works for Mycroft took over."

"You hit him with your mobile?" Sherlock asked, completely stunned.

"You should've seen his face." She laughed. "Your brother, that is." She glanced at Sherlock. "A bit like that, yeah."

Sherlock shook his head.

"And then he asked you to work for him?"

"No, he thanked me then he offered to take me to lunch as a reward, but I turned him down."

"You turned Mycroft down? Why?"

"I didn't do it to get rewarded. I was just helping him out, yeah?"

"But you've worked for him?"

"He's persistent. Kept running into me, _accidentally_." She emphasized with air quotes. "He wanted to know everything. Where I was from. How long I'd been in town. How long I was staying. Where I learned to do what I did-"

"Where did you learn to do that?" Sherlock interrupted.

"From a friend."

"A friend?"

He was going to start digging again and as tired as she was there was very good possibility that she'd let something slip. She couldn't have that so she sat her cup down.

"It's been a long day and it's getting late. We can continue this conversation tomorrow, if you like."

"Late?" Sherlock asked, glancing at the clock as if he didn't know what she was talking about.

She stood up.

"I don't know about you, but I need at least a few hours of sleep or I'm rubbish."

"Oh," he replied, standing up. "Right. Sleep."

She followed him to the door, but he turned to her after opening it.

"Tomorrow," he said.

"You know where I live."

"Indeed," he glanced around the room then back to her. "Goodnight Ms. Tyler."

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

He gave her a half smile before stepping out and closing the door. She couldn't help smiling as she walked back into the room to gather their cups. He was brilliant, which meant she had to be careful, very careful, but a little risk was worth meeting the famous detective.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers! :)

**If you have time reviews are always welcome.**


	3. Invaluable

Sherlock removed his coat and scarf, tossing them aside. Then he pulled out his mobile and dialed Mycroft's number. He had to know more about her, even if that meant talking to his brother.

"Yes?" Mycroft greeted after the third ring.

"Who is she?" Sherlock asked.

"Interesting, isn't she?"

His brother knew who he was talking about. He'd probably been waiting for Sherlock's call, but he was playing games, as usual.

"Who is she?" the detective demanded.

"She's just a girl."

That was about as far from the truth as Mycroft could get.

"She isn't simply a girl. She works for you and Lestrade. She's living in the flat below mine. There's more to it than that."

"For instance?"

This was his brother. All of it.

"You knew I was coming back. You've wove her into every part of my life. You put her here to spy on me. Admit it."

Mycroft chuckled.

"Ah, dear brother, no matter what you believe the entire world does not revolve around you."

What? If she wasn't there to spy on him what was the point of her being there?

"Why is she here then?"

"I placed her at Baker Street so Mrs. Hudson could keep an eye on her."

Hang on. Mrs. Hudson was keeping an eye on her? His landlady wouldn't do that. Maybe for Sherlock, but not for Mycroft.

"Mrs. Hudson wouldn't spy on her for you."

"Of course not. I merely wanted to keep her safe."

Safe? What did that mean? Was she in some kind of danger?

"Safe from what?"

"Nothing, just…safe."

Ah. And there it was. He wanted her somewhere he could keep an eye on her. Make sure he knew where she was going and what she was doing.

"You're worried someone will tempt her away from you."

"She is invaluable."

Invaluable? She was clever and stopping a thief with her mobile, well, that was impressive, even to Sherlock, but invaluable?

"Why is she so important?"

"That's really none of your concern."

Yes, it really was. At least, it was now.

"It is if I make it my concern."

"You won't do that."

His brother didn't want him to know. That, in itself, made him want to know all the more.

"Won't I?"

"No, Sherlock, you won't."

He was greeted by the click of Mycroft hanging up. So, his brother found her invaluable. He was keeping tabs on her. Making sure he knew where she went and what she was doing. There was something going on with her and Sherlock was determined to find out exactly what it was, no matter what Mycroft wanted.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all by brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	4. A Bit of Coffee A Bit of Murder

Rose woke to loud knocking on her front door. She glanced at her alarm clock. 6 am. The knocking came again, persistent. Lestrade would've phoned, as would Mycroft and even if they came by Mrs. Hudson would've let them in and she would be the one knocking on the door and that was definitely not a Mrs. Hudson knock, which only left one person. Sherlock knocked again, as if on cue.

She sighed as she climbed out of bed and groggily made her way across her room and into the living room. He knocked again.

"I'm coming," she yelled, a bit irritated that he was there so early.

She reached the door, unlocked it, and opened it just wide enough to see him, intent on telling him to come back later, but he had other plans.

"Morning," he greeted, stepping into her flat.

He was far too awake for six in the morning.

"Morning," she replied. "It's a bit early-"

"Early. Yes," he said, distractedly. "Shall I make us some coffee?"

He popped into the kitchen without waiting for a reply, leaving Rose standing with the door open wondering what he was doing. Obviously she wasn't going to get rid of him. She sighed, closing the door and then walked to the kitchen.

Sherlock filled the kettle and then put it on. She paused in the doorway, watching him. He opened and closed her cupboards until he found the coffee and two cups. Once he gathered everything he turned around and eyed her, leaning back against the counter as he waited for the water to boil.

"So, last night you were telling me about that friend of yours," he said.

"Friend?" she asked, trying to recall their conversation in her sleep fogged mind.

"Yes. The one who taught you how to take someone down with a mobile."

"Right," she, slowly, replied.

This was definitely not the conversation she wanted to have at six in the morning.

"Where is this friend now?"

She shifted, uncomfortably. The Doctor. That's who he was asking about. Although, he didn't know who the Doctor was or that he even existed.

"He's…gone."

"Gone? Gone where?"

"Back home, I suppose."

"Ah," he nodded. "But you must have other friends."

Why did he want to know about her friends?

"There's Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade and-"

"No, I mean from before."

Images resurfaced. Ones she buried seven months ago. She shifted again, forcing the images back. She couldn't think about them. It was too painful.

"Not…anymore."

"No?" he asked, raising his brow.

She definitely needed to change the subject.

"Does it matter?" she asked.

"Not particularly." The kettle boiled and he filled their cups. "What do you take?"

"Bit of milk." She realized her mistake as he grabbed the handle of her refrigerator. "No," she called, hurrying across the room. "Wait."

Only, it seemed waiting wasn't something Sherlock did. He pulled the door open and paused, staring at the severed hand, which was sitting on the second shelf next to a takeout carton. Then he turned, very slowly, back to her and raised his brow.

"I didn't kill him. Honestly," she said, knowing how insane that sounded.

There was a severed hand in her icebox and the first thing she says is _I didn't kill anyone _which is exactly what a murderer would say.

"That's apparent," he replied.

"It is?"

"I highly doubt you'd leave parts of your victim lying around, but I must ask-"

"I'm testing it," she said.

"Testing it?" he asked.

She could hear the disbelief in his voice and wondered exactly how mental he thought she was.

"For a friend," she replied.

"Testing it for what?" he inquired.

"Poison."

"What sort of poison?"

"That's what the test is for, but it's not going to keep if you stand there with the door open."

He grabbed the carton of milk and closed the door.

"What friend?" he asked, as he added a bit of milk to her coffee.

"Molly. She works at-"

His eyes snapped to hers.

"You know Molly?"

"Working with Lestrade, it's kind of hard not to."

"Right."

He stood up and closed the milk then gave her a sideways glance before returning it to the refrigerator. She couldn't tell if he was confused or worried. Probably confused, he didn't seem the worrying sort.

"Thank you," she said, picking up her cup and taking a drink.

"Yes." He paused and then eyed her. "You're testing it for Molly?"

She couldn't help smiling at his disbelief. He didn't know what Molly knew. That Rose could find things that even their best computers couldn't. Of course, Molly didn't know how she did it, just that she could.

"Yep," she replied.

"She couldn't test it herself?" he asked, still with the disbelief.

"She did, but she couldn't find anything."

"And she thinks you can?"

"She knows I can. If there is anything to find that is."

"Think you're that good, do you?" he asked.

She gave him a smile.

"I'm no Sherlock Holmes." She was rewarded with a half smile. "Well," she continued, setting her cup on the counter. "I'm going to pop in the shower before-"

Her phone chimed. She reached behind Sherlock, brushing his arm in the process and unplugged her phone from the charger. She glanced at the ID. Lestrade.

"Hello?" she asked, answering it.

"Rose?" Lestrade inquired.

"Yeah."

"There's been another one."

"Another one?"

"Apparent drowning. Salt water."

"Where?"

"Bristol."

She glanced at Sherlock who was completely focused on her. She was sure he knew who she was talking to.

"I'm on my way," she replied before hanging up. She eyed the detective and couldn't help giving him a smile. "Up for a bit of murder?"

He gave her his own smile and not a half one this time.

"Always."

"I'll just pop in my room and get dressed."

"And I'll grab my coat and hail us a cab," Sherlock replied before hurrying out of her flat.

She could work on her own, but she always preferred having someone with her and, in a way, Sherlock reminded her of the Doctor. Genius. Moody. More curious than anyone ought to be. And there was something about his eyes that reminded her of the Time Lord she traveled with.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	5. Scanning Bodies

Sherlock leaned back in the seat next to Ms. Tyler as the cab pulled out. The way she avoided questions about her past told him she was hiding things. If she was to be believed her presence at Baker Street, friendship with Mrs. Hudson and Molly, working with Lestrade and Mycroft, was nothing more than a lucky coincidence. A coincidence that began with his brother, but Sherlock knew better than to believe that.

The theft must have been staged for Mycroft's benefit. The idea that she would happen out of a shop at the exact moment that a thief stole Mycroft's briefcase was absurd. Of course there was always a chance that it was nothing more than a lucky coincidence, but that chance was so minute it was nearly nonexistent. No, she must have set it up.

If Mycroft wasn't involved in weaving her into his life then that left her. Weaving her way into his life for some other reason, but why? Moriarty was dead and he was the most likely person to set this whole thing up. He had, of course, other enemies, but ones more likely to stab or shoot him, not enact this elaborate of a plan.

Her phone chimed, interrupting his thoughts. He watched her pull the mobile from her jacket pocket. She read the text, seemed a bit annoyed, typed a reply that he easily deciphered without having to read the screen, _crime scene, _hit send and then re-pocketed her phone. Obviously, someone was interested in where she was going. Was it someone who stopped by after they left? A friend? An associate in this elaborate plan of hers? The mastermind behind the plan?

Her phone chimed again. She pulled it back out with a sigh, read the text, rolled her eyes, typed another reply, _working together, _hang on…what did she mean by that? She sent the text. Her phone chimed before she could slide it into her pocket. Another sigh, this one a bit more irritated.

"Everything all right?" he asked.

"Fine," she replied, without looking up.

_Going out for cocktails after. Want to join?_

What? Before he could question her, his phone chimed. He pulled it out of his pocket. Mycroft. What did his brother want?

_Are you busy?_

- _MH_

_Yes._

- _SH_

He wasn't sure if his brother had a job for him or not, but he wasn't about to drop what he was doing with Ms. Tyler to go off on some matter of national importance for Mycroft. His phone chimed again.

_With Ms. Tyler?_

- _MH_

Wait. What? How did he know…and that's when he realized who must have been texting Ms. Tyler. It wasn't some associate of hers, well, not in the criminal sense, well, not in the conspiracy to take over his life sense. It was Mycroft.

_Perhaps._

- _SH_

His phone chimed again.

_I thought we had an understanding._

- _MH_

_No, you had an understanding._

- _SH_

Ms. Tyler's mobile rang. She pulled it out and answered it. He didn't have to hear his brother's voice on the other end to know who was calling her.

"Hello?" she asked. Her brows drew together. "Working." She paused. "Yes." Another pause. "Well, that's…No…that's not really…Look here Mycroft Holmes! No matter what you think I don't work for you. I'm not one of your little minions or whatever you want to call those mindless tossers who follow you around and do whatever you say. Yes, I've gone on assignments for you, but just remember you're the one who comes to me and if you ever want my help again you'll shut it! Do you hear me? I'll do whatever I want with whoever I want and you'll stay out of my business. Am I making myself clear?" She paused. "Good. Now, if you don't mind and even if you do, I'm busy." She hung up and pocketed her phone.

Sherlock couldn't help smiling. No one, beyond himself, had ever talked to Mycroft like that. So, she really didn't work for him because if she had she would never have done that. Maybe it was all a coincidence. That or she knew he was suspicious and that whole display was for his benefit.

"Sorry about that," she apologized. "I know he's your brother and all, but I won't have him telling me what I can and can't do."

"You aren't worried about what he might do?"

Not that he was worried about it, but he wanted to find out what she'd say.

"Why? Because he basically controls the British government?"

"Precisely."

She laughed.

"He might control the British government, but at the end of the day he's just a man."

Something in the way she said that gave him pause. It reminded him of what that cab driver said a few years ago.

"What do you mean, he's just a man?" he asked.

"I've dealt with worse," she replied.

At that moment the cab pulled up next to a police barricade. He wanted to question her further, but it seemed that would have to wait as he climbed out and held the door for her. At least now he would get some answers as to exactly how she solved these crimes.

Sergeant Donovan was again manning the barricade. She eyed them as they walked over.

"I thought we got rid of you," Donovan snapped, eyeing Sherlock.

"Hello, Sally, always a pleasure," Sherlock greeted.

"He's with me," Ms. Tyler said.

"He's with you?" Donovan asked in disbelief.

"Is there a problem?" Ms. Tyler snapped.

"You brought him here?"

"Your powers of deduction are astounding," Sherlock said.

Ms. Tyler laughed. He gave her a smile before he could stop himself.

"You're not working with him?" Donovan asked.

"As a matter of fact, I am, not that it's any of your business," Ms. Tyler replied.

"You can't trust him."

"Why's that?"

"He's a psychopath."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I'm not a psychopath. I'm a high functioning sociopath. Do your research," he snapped.

"See? He gets off on this," Donovan said, gesturing toward the flat with officers milling in and out.

"Good," Ms. Tyler replied, giving Sherlock a smile.

He gave her a quizzical look.

"Good?" Donovan asked.

"It's not just me then. Now, Sally, if you don't mind," Ms. Tyler ducked under the police tape. Sherlock followed, "Lestrade's waiting for us."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Donovan called as they walked toward the flat.

As they drew closer Anderson stepped out the door.

"Ah, Anderson, how are you?" he asked.

"What're you doing here?" Anderson snapped.

"I invited him," Ms. Tyler said.

Sherlock couldn't help smiling at the baffled look on Anderson's face.

"You're working with him?"

"I am. Now, you haven't touched anything, have you?"

She must not have worked with Anderson much because if there's one thing Sherlock knew it was that Anderson always tried to control the crime scene.

"No, of course not." Hang on…what? "I left everything exactly how I found it."

"Exactly?" She raised her brow. "Because last time-"

"I remember," Anderson snapped and then seemed to think better of it. "Like I said, I didn't touch anything."

He glanced from her to Anderson and then back trying to work out exactly how she managed to make Anderson relinquish control of the crime scene.

"Good. Lestrade's inside?"

"Yes."

She stepped past him and through the door. Sherlock followed, still trying to work things out. Lestrade was waiting for them in the flat.

"Ah, good, you're both here," the inspector said.

"Where's the body?" Ms. Tyler asked.

Sherlock pulled out a pair of medical gloves and put them on as they talked. He noticed Ms. Tyler do the same.

"In the tub, same as the other. I'll just clear everyone out."

"Thank you. I'll let you know when we're finished."

"Come on, everyone, clear out," Lestrade called.

Sherlock watched the workers clear out of the flat. The last one closed the front door on his way out. Ms. Tyler turned and walked across the kitchen. Sherlock followed her to the body, which was still lying in the tub. He noted a small, black scuff mark on the floor, which was obviously made by the heel of a shoe, woman's, six inch.

Ms. Tyler pulled some sort of device from her pocket. A thin lamp, perhaps? It was silver with a blue tip. She pressed a button on the side and it made a sort of warbling noise as she held it over the body. What sort of device was it?

"What's that?" he asked, stepping closer to get a better look.

She released the button and then held it up as if she were reading something.

"It's a…sort of scanner," she replied.

A scanner? What did she scan? The body? Why?

"What do you mean, a scanner?"

"He drown in salt water, like the last bloke."

She got that from the scanner? Well, that answered his question as to how she knew what she knew, but where did she get that device from?

"Did Mycroft give you that?" he asked.

She laughed, pocketing the device. He would've liked to get a look at it. Perhaps he could later.

"Not hardly. Though I bet he'd like to get his hands on it, which is never going to happen."

She bent down and began examining the body, lifting first one arm and then the other, looking at the bruising. He, also, noted the bruising, similar to the last body, but his mind was still focused on that device.

"Where did you get it?" he asked.

"Mmm?" she inquired, as if she wasn't really paying attention.

"That device. If Mycroft didn't give it to you then where did it come from?"

"A friend."

A friend? The same friend who taught her to take down a suspect with a mobile? Where had her friend gotten it from? She ran it over the body and mere seconds later it calculated not only the cause of death, but anything out of place in the man's system, like the salt in his lungs. Computers didn't work that fast, at least, not to his knowledge and that was saying something.

"I'm finished, if you want to…"

"Sorry?" he asked as she stood up.

"You can examine the body, if you want."

Yes. Right. The murder.

"Drowning by salt water. Same bruising patterns as the other victim. Circular burn marks on the chest from the electrodes."

"Right," she agreed. "Well, then we can go over the rest of the place."

She brushed past him and he followed her into the kitchen. There were more scuff marks on the linoleum. She paused, examining them.

"Women's heels, six inch," he explained after a moment.

She gave him a smile.

"Six inch? Are you sure?" she asked.

"It's obvious."

She stood up and raised her brow.

"Is it?"

"If you look there," he pointed, "where the scuff mark begins you can see initials, which tells me the maker of the shoe, that company mainly sells men's shoes with the exception of two versions of women's. One is a flat, which obviously did not make these scuff marks and the other is a six inch heel."

"You're good," she said, giving him a smile. "Although, I'm not sure if you ought to boast about knowing that much about women's shoes…well, unless you're into that sort of thing."

Wait. What did she mean by that?

"Sorry?"

"Which is fine, by the way, if you are."

Hang on. What?

"I'm not-" he began, but she started across the room toward the front door.

"Its fine," she called over her shoulder.

"But, hang on." She opened the door and he followed her out. "I'm not in to…" he trailed off as they drew up to Lestrade.

"Not into what?" the inspector asked.

Ms. Tyler laughed.

"Nothing," Sherlock snapped.

Lestrade glanced from her to him.

"Right." The inspector focused on Ms. Tyler. "Did you find anything?"

"Has anyone wearing six inch heels been in the flat?" she asked.

"I don't think so." He glanced over his shoulder. "Anderson!"

Anderson hurried over.

"Yes?"

"Has anyone wearing six inch heels been in the flat?"

"No."

"Are you sure?" Ms. Tyler asked.

"Positive."

She turned back to Lestrade.

"You're looking for a woman."

"A woman? Are you sure?"

"Or a man wearing six inch heels, which can happen," she glanced at Sherlock, giving him a teasing smile, which he found unsettling, "and is fine." He scowled as his cheeks began to burn. Lestrade gave him a quizzical look. "But I'm putting my money on a woman."

"You think a woman killed both of them?"

"I believe so, yes."

"But she would've had to subdue them."

"You don't think a woman's capable of that?"

"Now, hold on, I'm not saying that. It's just…well, it doesn't seem very likely."

"Probably not, but it might be likely that she lured them to wherever she tortured them."

"And you think they just climbed into a tub of salt water willingly?"

"With the promise of a little something else, yes."

She smiled. Lestrade's eyes widened.

"Oh…oh, you mean, okay, I suppose. In salt water though?"

She shrugged.

"To each his own, yeah?"

"Or her own," Sherlock replied.

She glanced at him and laughed. He smiled again as his body betrayed him. Why the hell do I keep doing that? He shook his head.

"Any ideas on where to look?" Lestrade asked.

"A pub, perhaps," Sherlock said.

Actually, he knew exactly where to look. He fingered the matchbook in his pocket. He'd taken it from the side table. He'd seen the same one in the last victim's flat.

"Just a pub?"

"Yes. Now, are we finished?"

"Yes. I…I suppose."

He turned to Ms. Tyler and smiled.

"Lunch?" he asked.

"Sure," she agreed.

He noted Lestrade's stunned face as she laced her arm through his before they started down the road. He could stake out the pub later, but at the moment he was very interested in finding out more about that device and just who Ms. Tyler was. He wanted a closer look at that scanner and a closer look inside her flat, preferably on his own, but until then he planned on keeping her as close as possible that way if any of her friends happened by, called, or sent her a text he'd be right there to find out.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	6. Angelo's

Rose followed Sherlock into the cozy restaurant. A young bloke in an apron motioned for them to take the table near the window.

"Thank you, Billy," the detective said as he removed his coat and sat down.

She gave Billy a smile as she slid into the seat next to Sherlock. She removed her coat and sat it in the seat next to her. An older man with a graying beard, wearing his hair pulled back in a ponytail walked over to them with menus.

"Sherlock," he greeted, shaking the detective's hand.

"Angelo," Sherlock said, giving the man a smile.

"Good to see you." He handed the detective a menu. "As always, anything on the menu free. For you and…" He handed a menu to Rose. She gave him a smile that he returned, "…your…"

"Friend," she supplied.

"Companion," Sherlock replied at the same time.

Angelo raised his brow.

"Companion?" Angelo and Rose asked together.

Sherlock glanced from one to the other and seemed to realize his mistake.

"Colleague," he corrected. "I meant, colleague."

"Right." Angelo gave Sherlock a knowing smile, that was completely wasted on the detective who didn't seem to catch Angelo's meaning, but Rose did. She laughed, earning a confused scowl from Sherlock. "This man, here," Angelo pointed at the detective, "got me off a murder charge. Cleared my name."

"I cleared it a bit. You were housebreaking at the time," Sherlock corrected.

"If it wasn't for this man I'd have gone to prison."

"You did go to prison."

Rose laughed.

"I'll bring you two a candle."

"A candle?" Sherlock asked.

"Small, romantic," Angelo replied, giving the detective a wink.

He walked off, most likely to find a candle. Sherlock watched him with a confused look. Rose laughed. He glanced at her.

"What?"

"He thinks we're on a date."

"Sorry…what?"

He glanced from her to Angelo who was returning with a small candle, already lit. He sat it on the table.

"We're not on a-" Sherlock began.

"Thank you," Rose interrupted, giving Angelo a smile that he returned.

She glanced over her menu, but she could feel Sherlock's eyes on her and after a few moments she caught his gaze.

"We're not on a date," he said.

She smiled.

"Obviously."

"Yes." He glanced out the window, satisfied. "Right. Obviously." She returned to her menu. "Why obviously?"

"Sorry?" she asked, looking up.

"You said, obviously. Why obviously?"

"I'm not paying, you're not paying, it can't be a date."

"Ah," He nodded. "Right." He glanced back out the window. She returned to her menu. "What do you mean, you're not paying?"

"I'm not…am I? Because Angelo said-"

He lifted his hand and motioned.

"No, no, that's not what I'm saying. I meant have you been on many dates where you paid?"

"Hang on. I thought you said this wasn't a date."

"It's not. I mean. It's not. I was simply wondering-"

He seemed completely flustered and she couldn't help laughing. She gave his arm a playful shove. He glanced at her hand where it touched his arm with a bit of shock in his eyes. He really didn't get out much, did he?

"I was joking," she laughed.

"Joking. Right."

She laughed at the completely serious look on his face.

"Don't get out much, do you? A few."

"A few?" he asked, as if he had no idea what she was referring to.

"Dates. I've been on a few dates where I paid. Most of them were with Mickey, but after my first trip with the…" she paused, realizing what she almost said, "…my friend, I paid for lunch because he didn't have any money on him at the time."

"Your friend?"

And now he was interested, which was definitely not a good thing, but at least he'd dropped his line of questioning about the sonic. She should've known he wouldn't believe it was just a scanner. Lestrade believed that, but Sherlock was on a completely different level, more of the Doctor's level.

"Yeah," she replied, picking up the menu and reading through it.

She really had to be more careful, but the problem was Sherlock reminded her of the Doctor, too much sometimes, which made her comfortable and then things slipped out.

"You went to lunch with your friend?" he asked.

He was digging again, but she wasn't going to let him strike anything.

"Yep," she said, without looking up.

"And that was a date?"

"Yep."

"Then he was more than a friend."

"A bit, yeah."

More than a bit, but she didn't want to get into that. Luckily Angelo returned to take their orders. She asked for the lasagna and tea. Sherlock only wanted coffee, which she found a bit odd. Had he eaten before he knocked on her flat? He must have.

She could feel his eyes on her and the last thing she wanted was for him to continue his line of questions.

"So, you never let your dates pay?" she asked after Angelo walked away.

His gaze shifted out the window.

"It's not really my area," he replied.

Not really his area?

"So, you don't date?"

"No."

"Ever?"

He caught her gaze.

"No."

That was hard for her to believe.

"How do you manage a girlfriend without dating?"

His eyes shifted to the window again.

"I don't," he replied with his voice completely neutral, betraying no emotion, again reminding her of the Doctor.

He was brilliant and definitely on the higher end of the one to ten scale when it came to looks. He must have a girlfriend.

"You don't have a girlfriend?"

"I consider myself married to my work."

Married to his work?

"So, you haven't been on a date?"

"Dates are dull."

Ah. And there it was. He was brilliant and to him dating was dull and ordinary, which it might've been to the Doctor too if not for the TARDIS.

"You mean ordinary dates."

He glanced at her.

"What's an ordinary date?"

"Bloke picks you up, takes you out, usually dinner and a show, and then drops you home. I used to find it exciting, but, yeah, it'd be boring now."

He raised his brow and she could tell that she was right about him finding ordinary dates boring.

"What's changed?" he asked.

"For starters I've been on dates that wouldn't be considered ordinary by anyone's standards. Not even yours."

He smiled.

"Sure about that are you?"

She gave him a smile in return.

"Most people wouldn't consider kidnapping, running for your life, or chasing down people bent on world domination part of a date."

He raised his brow, still smiling.

"But you do?" he asked.

"Well, there were chips and dancing." She laughed and was surprised when he joined her. "Granted, most women wouldn't be up for a bit of kidnapping and chips."

"Or running for your life and dancing," he replied.

"That too."

They laughed again. Angelo interrupted them with her lunch. He smiled and gave Sherlock another wink, which seemed to sober the detective up. He turned his attention out the window as she ate.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	7. Backup

She was good. He had to be more careful. He asked her to lunch with the intention of finding out more about her, what she was hiding that is, and about that device, but he hadn't even gotten to the device because she switched their roles before he got the chance and he hadn't even noticed.

It was trick, of course. She was trying to make him comfortable to gain his trust, but that wasn't about to happen. He asked about her dating practices, not out of curiosity about her, but to learn more about that friend she kept bringing up. Only, she started questioning him and dating wasn't really his area. Talking about things that weren't his area made him a bit uncomfortable, but she somehow turned his discomfort into humor and not at his expense and before he knew what was happening he almost let his guard down. Something that never happened.

He, internally, chastised himself for allowing the slip. Where was John when he needed him? On a trip with Mary, of course. His friend was much better at this sort of thing.

"So, why did you lie to Lestrade?" Ms. Tyler asked.

His eyes snapped to hers. Lie? What was she on about?

"Sorry?" he asked.

"I saw you pocket that matchbook and don't even try telling me it was because you needed a light bad enough to pinch them from a crime scene."

She couldn't have…could she? Well, obviously she had. She was very observant, which wasn't good since he'd planned on breaking into her flat the first chance he got so he could have a look round.

"There might be a connection," he replied.

"Might be?"

She wasn't buying it.

"Possibly."

"Possibly?"

"Something I was going to follow up on later," he dismissed.

"This is my investigation as much as yours and if you think you're going to go hunting for a serial killer on your own you best think again," she insisted.

He didn't need anyone, least of all her, telling him what to do. If he wanted to hunt down a serial killer on his own that was exactly what he'd do.

"And you think you can stop me?"

"I don't want to stop you. I want to help you."

Help him? Ah, she wanted to come with him. Why? John would suggest that, though he wouldn't actually want to do it, but he wouldn't want Sherlock to go on his own, but that was John.

"You want to come with me?" he asked.

"Don't you think it'd be a good idea to have someone watching your back?"

He didn't trust her to do any such thing, but perhaps it would be a good idea to bring her along. See how she handled herself. If she was telling the truth about stopping that thief with her mobile and it hadn't been staged he should be able to tell in the right situation. If she was lying, well, he'd find that out too.

It was one thing to use a scanner at a crime scene, but that scanner wasn't going to help her in this sort of situation. Yes, bringing her along was a very good idea. He could take care of himself and if she got into any real danger he could handle that as well or not, depending on who she really was.

"All right. It's agreed."

* * *

At seven that evening he knocked on the door of Ms. Tyler's flat. He heard a muffled _come in, _opened the door and stepped inside. He glanced around the room, but she was nowhere to be found.

"I'm in here," she called from what he suspected was the bathroom. "I'll be out in a few minutes, nearly ready. You can have a cup of coffee if you want. The kettle's still warm."

He was torn between hurrying off to catch the serial killer and not passing up the opportunity she was affording him. He settled on the opportunity.

"Take your time," he called, crossing the room and stepping into the kitchen. He grabbed a cup and quickly added water and coffee then he started pulling open drawers. Silverware in the first one. Utensils in the second. Batteries, flashlight, and other odds and ends in the next. The fourth seemed more promising. He sifted through the paid bills and then the receipts. It seemed everything in her flat was new, as if she'd never lived on her own before, but judging by her age she must have. She said her friend had been more than a friend. Had they lived together and she left him? That could be why she needed a place. No, but that would only be true if she was to be believed and he didn't believe her. There were far too many coincidences for her story to be true.

He closed the drawer and started looking through the lower cupboards. Pots, pans, cleaning supplies, bowls. Nothing. Damn. He heard heels clicking across the floor. Heels? He grabbed a spoon, added sugar to his coffee, and began to stir.

"Ready?" she asked.

He glanced up and froze. Short, black, dress. Spaghetti straps and there was a sort of V shape in the side. Black heels. Seven inch, no, nine. Were they nine? His rational mind seemed to have fled at the sight of her. Hair down, bangs clipped back. Make-up, but a lot different than what she wore during the day. She smiled and he returned it, at least he thought he did.

"Don't laugh," she warned.

Laugh? That was the farthest thing from his mind, at least, he thought so, he'd know once his mind returned.

"IumI…"

He shook his head, trying to jar his rational mind back into place. _What the hell's wrong with me?_ Low blood sugar? That could do since he hadn't eaten since yesterday. Was it yesterday?

"Is it all right?" she asked, looking down at her dress and messing with one of the straps, which brought his attention to her neck and the way her hair brushed her shoulder and…he shook his head again. _Bloody hell, get a hold of yourself man. _"I don't normally wear this sort of thing, but I wanted to blend in. You said we were going to a club, yeah?"

She looked at him and he realized she was waiting for a response.

"Club. Yes," he replied.

"And I look all right?"

"Brilliant. Good. Fine. I meant fine," he stammered.

_What the devil is wrong with me? _It must be low blood sugar. Had to be. His rational mind phased back into place and he slammed the walls around it before it could escape again. Quickly, he crossed the room, keeping his gaze locked on her eyes.

"Ready then?" he asked, picking up a long, black coat she must have bought after lunch. He helped her into it and then opened the door.

"Thanks," she replied, giving him a smile that he was unable to stop himself from returning.

She stepped out and he rolled his eyes at himself as he closed the door. She was just a woman. Nothing special and hardly worth his time. He wasn't spending time with her. He didn't do that sort of thing. He was merely trying to find out what she was planning because she was planning something. That's all.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	8. Of Clubs and Coat Rooms

Rose stepped into the club with Sherlock. It was a bit more posh than the ones she'd gone to with her friend what seemed like a lifetime ago. Back in her original universe before the Doctor and Pete's World.

He led her over to the coat room, it was more of a large closet really. She removed her coat and hung it up. The sonic was safely tucked in a garter belt under her skirt, something she put together after the first posh assignment Mycroft sent her on.

She turned around to find Sherlock waiting for her. He was dressed exactly the same as he had been earlier that day. White button-down shirt, slacks, suit jacket, dress shoes. That was definitely not going to do.

"Frequent many clubs?" she teased.

"It's not really my-" he began.

"Area, yeah?" She laughed. "I could tell. All right."

She unbuttoned his suit jacket and began removing it.

"What're you-" he protested.

"You want to blend in? First things first. You've got to lose the jacket."

"I am quite capable of blending in on my own," he argued, but he allowed her to finish removing his jacket and hang it up.

"I don't doubt that. At least, when it comes to anything more…" she trailed off catching his gaze.

"More what?"

"Straight laced, but this…it's a bit different."

"For instance?"

"Well, for instance your shirt." She unbuttoned his right cuff and rolled the sleeve up a bit. He tensed at their close contact. She glanced at him as she took his other arm to roll that sleeve up a bit. His eyes were wide and completely trained on her, reminding her of a trapped animal, which, reminded her of the Doctor and then she was smiling, a bit cheeky because it was just too hard not to. "There now." She released his arm.

"Yes. Well…" he said, trailing off as she stepped closer.

"And now a bit of this…" She reached up and ran her hands through his hair, ruffling it. He was more than a bit taller than her and even in heels she had to reach up, which meant leaning close to him. She caught his gaze and took in the way he was completely focused on her, as if she were the only thing in the entire universe, which brought out that cheeky grin again. She felt his hand brush her back and decided to end things before they became complicated. They were at a club, after all, to catch a serial killer. She stepped back and gave him a once over. "Much better."

He blinked and then seemed to regain control of himself.

"Yes. Right," he replied. "Um…thank you."

"Don't mention it," she said, giving him a smile as she took his arm.

She caught the sideways glances he shot her as they walked out of the coat room and made their way across the club and up to the bar. She almost laughed at the look on his face, which seemed to be a mixture of curiosity and confusion. If he hadn't told her he hadn't been on a date before she would've guessed it by then.

She ordered a cosmo and caught the glance Sherlock shot her. Raised eyebrow and all.

"Blending in," she replied with a shrug. He ordered bourbon. "So," she said, glancing around the room. "We're looking for a woman wearing six inch heels." She estimated there were at least twenty women fitting that description.

"We can't be certain she'll be wearing the same shoes," he replied.

"Brilliant. Then all we have to go on is that the killer's a woman."

"I wouldn't say that."

She glanced at him. He seemed a bit more smug than normal, which told her that he knew something she didn't.

"What would you say then?" she asked.

"Oh, come now, you were at the crime scene too. We both saw the cuff marks."

He really enjoyed the fact that he knew something she didn't and although she knew that would annoy most people she was used to it with the Doctor. She gave him a smile.

"And?" He paused and he seemed confused, as if he wasn't sure why she was smiling. "Go on, tell me," she coaxed.

"And…" his mind seemed to snap back into place, the smugness returned. "And the scuff marks told us more than the type of shoe she wore. It also told us her height, weight, and walking gate. From that I could calculate a reasonable description." Her smile broadened. He was brilliant. He returned her smile and then seemed to think better of it and shook his head instead. "We're looking for a woman in her early to late twenties; five foot seven and weighs one hundred twenty one pounds."

Rose blinked. He was more than brilliant.

"You got all that from the scuff marks on the floor?"

"It was obvious."

She might have found that rude, but she knew he wasn't intentionally being rude. To him it was obvious. All that without the help of a sonic screwdriver.

"That was brilliant," she exclaimed and she knew she was smiling like an idiot, but she couldn't help it.

He really was Sherlock Holmes.

He shot her a confused glance.

"Really?"

"Yes really. Really, really. I mean, wow, I don't know if there's a word that means more than brilliant, but if there is that's what you are."

"Genius," he replied.

Again being honest not rude, but it made her laugh. He glanced at her, drawing his brows together.

"Genius. That definitely sums you up," she said, giving him a smile.

He returned her smile seeming to realize she wasn't having fun with him. Yes, he would definitely give the Doctor a run for his money. Her cosmo arrived. She picked it up and took a drink as she gazed around the room looking for someone who fit the genius detective's description.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	9. Pretenses

Sherlock scanned the room. None of the women fit. There were a few who were close, but each one was just a bit off. Right weight, wrong height. Right height, wrong weight. Right height, right weight, wrong age.

He glanced at Ms. Tyler, who was also taking in the room, but he knew if he wasn't so adapt at reading people he might mistake her demeanor as that of a woman looking for a bit of company and not a woman hunting for a serial killer. That was a ruse, of course, on her part. She was good.

Her eyes stopped roving and she sat up a bit, telling him she honed in on a possible suspect. He followed her gaze. The woman was in her early twenties, red dress, black heels, six inch. He watched the woman weave her way around the club, eyes wondering over every man in sight. Ms. Tyler must have taken her actions as that of a serial killer looking for her next victim. He could see that the woman had an entirely different motivation.

"That's not our killer," he said.

Ms. Tyler glanced at him, raising her brow.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

He gave her the same _don't be an idiot _look he usually reserved for John. She smiled. Wait. Why would she smile? No one ever smiled when he gave them that look, granted the one he gave John was less intense because he didn't actually think of his friend as an idiot, at least, not like the others, but still smiling was…well, why would she do that?

"Go on then," she said in that same coaxing manner she'd used earlier.

"You…" he began, but his voice came out just above a whisper. He cleared his throat, focusing his attention on her suspect. "You believe she's searching the room for her next victim, but you're wrong."

"Who's she looking for then?"

"Watch," he said, nodding at the woman who was crossing the room, eyes locked on a man at the far end of the room.

The man, middle aged, blonde, beard, white suit, pale blue shirt, sat at a table chatting with a ginger woman wearing far too much make-up and far too little dress. The man got to his feet as soon as he noticed the other woman. She stalked across the room and slapped him before he could open his mouth. The red-head stood up and began arguing with the woman.

"How did you know?" Ms. Tyler asked.

He glanced at her.

"It was obvious."

She smiled. _That _smile. The one she'd given him in the coat closet and caused every thought in his mind to flee in its wake. He planned on going over the details he observed, but, at that moment, his mind couldn't latch onto a single one.

"Did it hurt?" A man asked, interrupting them.

Sherlock eyed the bloke who had drawn up in front of Ms. Tyler while they spoke. Dress shirt, early twenties, worked in an office, menial salary, idiotic grin plastered on his face as his eyes wondered from Ms. Tyler's face to her…Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

"Sorry?" she asked, as if she was taken a bit off guard by the man's strange question.

"When you fell from heaven?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, letting out a distasteful sigh.

"Idiot," he scoffed.

Ms. Tyler shot him a glare and then turned her attention back to the…idiot.

"You're sweet," she said, laughing, but not at the idiot.

Wait. What? Sherlock eyed her. Why was she laughing at the man's moronic attempt to pick her up? She was clever, more than clever. Far out of this idiot's league.

"Buy you a drink?" the idiot asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"That would be nice, but, actually I'm with someone so-"

Yes. Precisely. Sherlock picked up his drink and eyed the idiot.

"Why don't you sod off back to your table of meagerly paid office workers barely out of their parents flats," Sherlock finished, shooting the man a smile.

"Sherlock," Ms. Tyler snapped.

"Look here," the idiot growled.

The detective shrugged, taking a sip of his bourbon.

"I'm sorry," she began, talking to the idiot.

"I'm not," Sherlock replied.

Ms. Tyler opened her mouth, eyeing the detective, most likely to tell him off if her body language was any indication, but he noted the way the man's muscles in his right arm tensed and set his drink down. When the bloke swung at him he easily caught the man's wrist. The detective twisted the man's arm behind his back as he stood up and then gave him a firm shove toward the table.

The idiot turned around, shooting the detective a glare as he rubbed his sore wrist. Sherlock picked up his drink and gave the man another smile as he lifted it slightly and then took a sip as the idiot crossed the room back to the table of other idiots.

"Brilliant job of blending in," Ms. Tyler snapped.

He glanced at her.

"Sorry?" he asked.

"We're supposed to be trying to find a serial killer without being noticed and now half the club's looking at us."

He glanced around the room. Seven people were looking at them. It was hardly half the club.

"I believe you're overreacting."

"_I'm_ overreacting? What the hell was all that about anyway?"

He glanced at her. What did she mean by that? The man was distracting them from their search. He was simply getting rid of the distraction.

"As you said, we're searching out a serial killer," he replied.

"He was harmless," she argued.

"He was a distraction."

She rolled her eyes as she stood up.

"Well, we might as well-"

The rest of what she was going to say was cut off as another bloke bumped into her spilling his drink down her dress. She gasped as the cold liquid splashed her skin. Sherlock shot to his feet, eyeing the man.

"Oh, my god, I am so sorry," the bloke apologized.

"No, it's…it's fine. It's probably my fault," she said, which it wasn't, the man's body language told him that.

"What are you playing at?" the detective accused.

"Nothing," the bloke insisted, grabbing a handful of napkins as if he was going to…that bloody well wasn't going to happen. "I-I didn't see-"

Sherlock pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, blocking the man's attempt to clean off her dress.

"Sherlock," Ms. Tyler snapped, taking the handkerchief from the detective and wiping at her dress. "'S all right. My mate's just a bit…" She glanced at Sherlock, "…overprotective." Wait. What? He eyed her, but she turned her attention to the bloke and gave him a smile. "I'll just pop in the loo and clean this off."

Overprotective? He was not…he'd never…he didn't do that sort of thing. He focused on the man, the one who caused the accident. Early thirties. Black suit jacket, tan dress shirt, slacks, loafers, wedding ring. He didn't at all like the leering way the bloke watched Ms. Tyler as she wove her way through the crowd.

"I believe you've done enough damage for one evening," Sherlock snapped, resisting the urge to punch the bloke.

The man turned his gaze on the detective becoming apologetic once again, which, he of course, wasn't.

"Sorry if I ruined your evening, mate."

"Are you?" Sherlock asked, eyeing him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" the bloke snapped, taking on a defensive stance.

"You had every intention of running into her."

"And why the hell would I do that?"

Why indeed? There was a reason and it wasn't simply to clean off her dress. There was…he glanced at the bar. The bloke had grabbed a handful of napkins, but he'd taken something else as well.

"I'll have her pocketbook back," Sherlock insisted.

"Sorry?" the bloke asked, eyes widening for a moment.

"You can either hand it over now or you can hand it to the police. It's entirely your choice."

The man's eyes darted around the room as he took a step back. Sherlock reached into his trouser pocket, his hand wrapping around the cool metal of the gun John left in his flat.

"I really wouldn't," the detective replied.

The bloke's eyes snapped to the outline.

"Fine," the bloke growled, pulling Ms. Tyler's pocketbook from his inside pocket. "Take it."

Sherlock took the pocketbook and watched as the bloke hurried off into the crowd. Ms. Tyler seemed to have a way of attracting trouble. Well, evenings with her would never be dull…Wait. He shook his head. He wasn't _with _her. He didn't do that sort of thing. They were working together. That's all. Trying to locate a serial killer and he was only working with her to find out what she was up to because she was merely pretending. What the hell was wrong with him? She was distracting, purposely distracting. He couldn't forget the role he was playing, couldn't let his pretenses slip.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	10. The Trouble With Mad Geniuses

Before we get into the chapter I want to give a shout-out back to TheWheelWeaves who is writing her first RoseLock and I am a total follower and absolutely love her story, The Wolf of Baskerville. If you haven't read it you should definitely check it out!

* * *

Rose stepped through the door and up to the first sink. She grabbed a handful of paper towels, turned on the tap, and began cleaning off her dress. She wasn't sure what got into Sherlock. She could've gotten rid of that bloke on her own. She'd been doing that sort of thing for a few years now. She didn't need some cocky self absorbed detective fighting her battles.

She sighed, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. The Doctor was gone, both of them, well, one of them was and the other might as well be. This was her life. No Doctor, no TARDIS, no traveling, well, traveling off the planet, but she managed. She'd made a life for herself. She wasn't the Doctor's companion or John's…she caught her gaze and took a breath.

Thinking about John brought up memories of her family and the sobering reality that she would never see them again. She'd made peace with that as best she could, but it still hurt and probably would for a long time, but the truth was she couldn't stay there. Pete's world was a reminder, a reminder of what she'd lost. Not only John, but a life with the Doctor as well.

She knew what she was risking with the Dimension Cannon. Knew that returning to her own universe was a shot in the dark, but it was one she had to take. Of course, that's not what she told her mum because she knew her mum would've moved mountains to make her stay. And how could she tell her mum that any chance was better than staying?

She wiped the stray tear and forced the memories away before they overwhelmed her. She wasn't that girl anymore. She was Rose Tyler, consulting detective and Defender of the Innocent. She had a good life, not the one she planned when she used that Dimension Cannon all those months ago, but it was still a good life.

Sherlock wasn't something she counted on though. Oh, she knew about him. Sherlock Holmes the consulting detective who committed suicide. The first time she heard his name she thought it was a joke. How could a fictional character exist, parallel world or not? She knew the Doctor would have an explanation. Some long winded speech about parallel universes branching off into other parallel universes and probably throw in a bit of _it's all timey wimey _or something like that.

As soon as she realized he was real, at least, he was real there or had been before he committed suicide she became…well, not really obsessed, but yes, a bit. The Doctor had been fascinated by the fictional character, quoting him a few times, which meant John was also fascinated by him and she'd spent more than one evening watching adaptations of Conan Doyle's famous detective. So, she knew enough about the fictional character to wonder why he would take his own life. Of course that one had an addiction and there was always a possibility that, that played a role, but she didn't know how closely the real life Sherlock mirrored the fictional character.

She thought about asking Mycroft, but being Sherlock's brother she didn't want to dredge up painful memories. The elder Holmes didn't seem the type to have painful memories, but she knew a thing or two about hiding her feelings. Just because someone seemed put together didn't mean there weren't deep emotions lurking beneath the surface.

So, she did her own digging, with Lestrade's help. Slowly she began to piece together a reason. A man who died the same day Sherlock died. Moriarty. Somehow he forced the detective to take his own life. She wasn't sure how, but there was a reason. Before she could begin delving into the mystery of exactly how Moriarty talked Sherlock into it the detective returned from the dead.

Mycroft sent her a text as she was flying back from her last assignment, which probably meant he had a dental appointment, most likely another root canal; he really needed to stay away from the sweets. She'd been surprised, but after reading up on his cases via Dr. Watson's blog, she knew if anyone could pull off faking their own death it would be Sherlock Holmes.

So, when she met him she expected the genius bit, the moodiness, the rudeness, and the quirky behavior. What she hadn't expected was the way he reminded her of a certain Doctor and the way that would make her feel comfortable around him. That disarmed her and for someone like her, someone who was hiding an impossible past, that could be her undoing.

Rose glanced over her reflection. Her dress was still a bit damp. She glad she'd gone with black. She sighed. The evening was a complete bust. They hadn't found the serial killer and after that display from Sherlock she couldn't be sure they hadn't drawn the attention of the person they were seeking.

She tossed the wet paper towels in the bin on the way out. They could try again tomorrow. Or, maybe, she should try again on her own. That seemed a better option. She liked having someone else there and she enjoyed Sherlock's company, but maybe more than she ought to, at least, for someone as clever and curious as him. It was far too dangerous, especially when she let things slip.

As she drew up to the bar she realized he wasn't there. She glanced around the club, but didn't immediately see him. Had he gone home? No, she doubted that. Maybe…no, he wouldn't, would he? But she knew the answer. If he spotted the serial killer leaving he would definitely follow her and he wouldn't give a thought to waiting around to give Rose a heads up and since he didn't have her number he wouldn't be able to text, if he even thought of that. One track mind that one.

She reached the bar, intending to grab her purse, but it wasn't there. She glanced around the stool. Nope. Glanced over the counter again. _No. No, no, no. _Her mobile was in there. Not the one from her old universe that could be…well, best not even think about the implications of someone getting their hands on that, but her new one had contacts like Mycroft and information that could be very damaging if it wound up in the wrong hands.

"This what you're looking for?" the barman asked, handing over her pocketbook.

Relief flooded through her.

"Yes, thank you," she said, giving the middle-aged man a smile as she took it.

He grinned back. Wait. Why did he have her pocketbook?

"Your mate asked me to hang on to it for you," he replied as if he could read her thoughts, but, most likely, he saw her confusion.

Hang on. What?

"My mate?" she asked, slowly.

He gave her a quizzical glance.

"The one you came in with."

Sherlock. Of course.

"Did he say where he was going?"

"Nope. Just handed me that and a fifty pound note, asking me to look after it until you got back." So, obviously he found a suspect to follow and ran off in his haste, leaving her behind. She sighed. The barman glanced at her, mistaking her sigh. "I wouldn't lose sleep over that one."

"Sorry?" she asked.

"I usually stay out of other people's business, but you seem like a nice girl, remind me a bit of my sister, always bringing home these good looking blokes who're no good for her." He caught her gaze. "There was a woman, seemed to catch his eye. As soon as she headed out the door he couldn't get out of here fast enough."

"What did she look like?" Rose asked.

He glanced away and she could tell he didn't want to get in the middle of it, but she had to know because she was sure the woman Sherlock was following wasn't a love interest as the barman assumed, but a serial killer.

Granted, Sherlock could handle himself, she knew that from Dr. Watson's blog posts, but if there's one thing she learned while traveling with the Doctor it was that going after the enemy on one's own could prove fatal. Not that she hadn't done that countless times, but someone had always been there to come after her and Sherlock, well, at the moment she was that someone.

She sat down on the stool, taking on a bit of a resigned look. Somehow she had to get the barman to talk.

"Can I get another cosmo?" she asked, giving him what she hoped was the half hearted smile of a woman who'd lost a battle.

He returned her smile.

"Sure thing, luv."

He mixed her another drink and sat it down. He mentioned a sister so family was important to him, but could she use that to get him to talk? Not that a description would help much, but it was a start.

"I knew he was tosser," she began. He eyed her, raising his brow. "See, thing is, he's not my boyfriend. He's my sister's. She met him on holiday, been hanging around her flat all hours. I didn't like him from the start. The way he acts like he's better than everyone else and I've seen him chatting up anything in a skirt." He gave her a nod of understanding. "Tried to tell her, but you know how younger sisters can be. Always think we've got some inside motive, think they know best." Another nod of understanding. She kept her grin from surfacing. "He might be some posh heir, flouting out his fifty pound notes every chance he gets, but he treats her like rubbish. Leaving her home and breaking dates for some business meeting when I know what he's doing. Thing is, I can't get her to see him for what he is. That's why I invited him out tonight. Thought maybe I might get a picture. Something that, you know, she can't dismiss. Some evidence, but that bloke ran into me with his drink and I wasn't here to follow him and now…well, guess the night's a bust." She sighed, catching the look of sympathy he gave her. "I'm not even sure if I can set this up again. I was lucky to get him out alone this time."

He watched her for a moment and then leaned close, resting his elbows on the counter. "Look, you didn't hear it from me, but I know where that bird lives. It's not too far. If you go out and hang a right, about three blocks down there's a flat, it's between two old buildings both abandoned." She gave him a smile. "You're looking for a brunette, long, straight hair, a bit taller than yourself, red dress, late twenties. I didn't catch her name, by my flat's two blocks past her place, seen her coming and going a few times."

"You're a life saver," she beamed, kissing his cheek and then giving him her winning smile.

He grinned in return, rubbing his cheek.

"Go on then," he said, motioning toward the door. "Get that picture for your sister."

She gave him another grin as she headed across the room. She didn't much like lying to people, but sometimes it was necessary, especially when she was dealing with a mad genius who insisted on putting himself in danger without backup.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	11. Jeopardy-Friendly Detectives

Happy New Year or day after New Year, depending on where you live. :)

* * *

20 minutes ago…

Sherlock took a sip of his bourbon and then glanced over the customers as he waited on Ms. Tyler. That's when he saw her. Right height. Right weight. Right age.

She was chatting up a bloke; middle-aged, green dress shirt, black trousers, loafers, all paid for by a meager salary. Not at all in the same league as the woman smiling and laughing at his flirtations.

Sherlock took in her red dress, black heels, pocketbook, far out of the man's pay grade. What reason would she have to chat him up? Was she the serial killer he was seeking? It was very good possibility.

After a few minutes they made their way to the coat room. The detective pulled a fifty pound note from his pocket and motioned to the barman. He handed the note and Ms. Tyler's pocketbook over.

"The woman I was with-" he began.

"Your date?" the barman asked.

"Yes…no…she's not my…" Why did everyone think they were dating? He glanced at the coat room as the two emerged. He didn't have time for this. "Look after that until she returns."

Then he made his way across the room and followed them out the door. He was careful to stay back far enough to keep them from becoming suspicious.

He watched the woman loop her arm through the man's as they walked down the road. She appeared to be initiating the flirtations, probably to keep him off guard. If she was the serial killer then she was leading him to wherever she tortured her other victims. Was it nearby?

By the time they reached the third block they were the only three people on the road. She laughed, probably at some joke, and glanced back, catching sight of Sherlock. He knew she couldn't get a good look at him because the streetlamps were out. The detective purposely stumbled, catching himself and then continued down the road. She seemed to buy his false drunken display and focused her attention back to the bloke walking next to her.

Sherlock smiled to himself. People were such idiots. They reached a set of flats between two abandoned buildings. One had been a butchers and the other a fish and chip shop. The signs were still legible, but fading with time. She pulled out her keys and seemed to fumble with them for a moment. Sherlock passed by, still making with his drunken act.

He glanced back after he heard the door shut. They were gone. The possible serial killer and her possible victim. He dropped the act and hurried back to her flat, walking around the side. He tried to peer in the windows, but found all of them blocked by thick curtains. He stepped back and glanced up. The upstairs windows had lighter curtains. If she was the serial killer and this was where she brought her victims then the torture must take place on the first or basement floor. She wouldn't have lighter curtains on the room she used.

He had to know what was going on inside. It was the only way he'd know if she was the serial killer or not. He walked back to the front of the building and up to the door. He could use his lock pick to break in, but the building wasn't empty. So, he opted for his second option. He lifted his hand and wrapped on the door. He paused a moment and wrapped again.

The door opened, revealing the woman he'd been following. She still wore the red dress, but her shoes had been discarded and all of her jewelry removed. He gave her a smile.

"Um, sorry to bother you, but my car's broke down around the corner and I was hoping to use your phone to call a tow," he said.

She eyed him warily.

"Don't you carry a mobile?" she asked, arching her eyebrows.

"Battery's dead. Isn't that always the way it works."

She leaned on the door.

"You're not a serial killer are you?"

He smiled again completely certain that he was right about her.

"No, not a serial killer, but then I supposed I'd say that if I were. Really, though, I'm not. Just need a tow's all."

She paused a moment and then opened the door.

"Phone's in there," she said, motioning to an open door a few feet down the hall.

He gave her a smile as he stepped inside, glancing around. She closed the door. The hall was bare, empty building bare. He walked toward the open door.

"Just in here then?" he asked, turning to glance at her, but before he could get very far he felt a sharp pain in his arm. "What did you…?"

The room began to swim.

"Did you really think I didn't know what you look like?" He grabbed at the wall as his knees buckled, but there wasn't anything for him to grab on to. "Every criminal in London knows your face Mr. Holmes and we all know about your return from the dead." He collapsed on the floor, staring up at her. She swam in and out of his vision. What the hell had she given him? "You really think Moriarty worked alone?" Wait. What? "Fortunately for them I can make sure you stay dead this time."

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	12. Serial Killers

The chilly evening air struck Rose as she raced out the door and down the street. She ignored the biting cold focusing on finding the idiot genius before something went wrong because if there's one thing she knew about geniuses it was that their plans always seemed to go a bit…sideways.

By the time she reached the middle of the first block she realized that her choice in shoes was definitely a hindrance. She stopped, kicked them off, ignoring the look a bloke across the road gave her, and then took off at a dead run. Down the rest of the block and then the next.

As she neared the third one she slowed down, pulling her sonic from the garter belt on her left thigh. The pocketbook was another pain she didn't need, especially if it came down to a fight, not with the detective, though that could happen, but with the serial killer, depending on if Sherlock's plan had gone wrong yet.

She opened her pocketbook, pulled out her mobile and three twenty pound notes and stuffed all of them into, well, the only place she could hold anything since eveningwear didn't typically come equipped with pockets. Then tossed the pocketbook and cautiously, hurried down the street, glancing around the area for both the flat the barman mentioned and her stray detective.

Her? She shook her head. He wasn't _her _detective. Where the hell had that thought come from? He was _a _detective. Genius, like the Doctor, but not _hers. _She didn't need that sort of complication.

She spotted the flat. No detective in sight, which could only mean one thing. His plan had gone wrong and he was now inside with the serial killer. Brilliant. There was no option. She'd have to go in, but she, unlike the idiot genius, knew when to call for backup.

She pulled out her mobile and phoned Lestrade, not his office number, that would've taken ages. He picked up on the second ring.

"Rose?" he asked.

"I think Sherlock's got himself into a bit of trouble. Can you send someone?"

"What sort of trouble?"

"Tacking down that serial killer on his own."

"Bloody hell! I knew he'd do something like that. Where's he got to?"

"White Swan, three blocks down, he's in a flat between an abandoned butcher's and a fish and chip shop."

"Yeah, I know the area. Hang on. Are you there?"

"Yep, just about to head in and save the genius, but thought I ought to call, you know, just in case."

"I'm on my way. Look, just don't do anything-"

She hung up because she knew what the next word out of his mouth was going to be. She turned the ringer off because he'd keep calling and that would definitely be a giveaway. She slid her mobile back into her bra and headed up the steps.

She knew there was every chance she'd unlock the door and step inside to find the serial killer waiting for her, which was why she phoned Lestrade. She couldn't wait though. Every second that ticked by was another second that woman had to kill her…no, _the_, she meant _the_ detective.

She used her sonic on the door and easily turned the handle. The door swung open quietly and she thanked the universe for that. Cautiously, she stepped into a completely bare hall, which was definitely not a good thing. Being barefoot would help, but empty walls created echoes. She closed the door as quietly as possible and then glanced around the hall. There was a staircase, but torture, it felt more like a basement sort of thing.

The layout was similar to the Baker Street flat. So, she headed down the hall in the direction her flat would be. When she started down the stairs she, again, thanked the universe that none of them creaked, or, at least, she did until she reached the bottom step that let out a loud _GROAN_. Damn!

She froze, eyeing the closed door as she held the sonic ready. One heartbeat, then another, then a third, she was about to relax when the door swung open. A woman – red dress, barefoot, long, straight brunette hair – pointed a gun at her.

"Well, now, isn't this a surprise?" the woman asked, raising her brow.

"Sorry?" Rose asked, not entirely sure what the woman meant.

"I expected Mr. Holmes after I noticed him at the club, didn't see you there."

"I was otherwise engaged."

In the loo washing off a spilled drink, but she didn't want to get into that.

"Were you both tracking me or did I interrupt your date?" the woman inquired, her crimson lips quirking up slightly.

Rose smiled.

"I'd answer, but then you wouldn't have anything to think about all those years you'll be in prison."

"I'm not going to prison," the woman replied, cocking her gun.

"Aren't you?" Rose asked, pressing the button on her sonic.

It emitted the familiar warble. At that moment the woman's gun sparked. She yelled, dropping the weapon on the floor. Rose took those few seconds to close the distance between them then she did one of the few things her time with Jimmy Stone taught her. She punched the woman in the face, knocking her out.

She hurried through the door, hoping she wasn't too late. The room was dimly lit. There was a metal tub, more like a large trough for farm animals. She could see someone lying in the tub. Her heartbeat sped up. What if she was too late?

"Sherlock," she called, racing across the room.

There was movement to her left and she froze. Turning in that direction as she brandished her sonic. There was someone lying on the floor. Not dead because there was movement. She might've called it flailing, but whoever it was moved too slow for that.

She stepped closer, slowly, using her sonic as a torch. When she was close enough she could see that it wasn't just someone. It was Sherlock, but there was something wrong with him. She used her sonic to scan him then looked at the readings. Tranquilizers. She let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. He was all right. Drugged, but all right.

She hurried over to the tub. There was a middle aged man hooked up to electrodes. Dead? She scanned him. Not yet. His breathing was shallow, but if she got him…At that moment she heard movement, footsteps, lots of them. Lestrade?

"Rose?" he called, his voice carrying in the nearly empty flat.

"Down here," she yelled.

More footsteps and then they were coming down the stairs. She hurried over to the door. The woman was waking, probably from all the noise. Lestrade emerged, coming down the stairs with other uniformed officers behind him.

"She's the one," Rose said, indicating the woman.

"Cuff her," Lestrade ordered.

Two officers grabbed her. She attempted to put up a fight, but she was no match for them.

"Did you bring an ambulance? There's a man in the tub. He needs medical attention," Rose said.

"We need some medical attention down here," Lestrade called up the stairs. He turned back to her. "Where's Sherlock?"

"He's over here," she said, leading the Inspector over to the detective who was moving around a bit more than he had been.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Tranquilizers, but I think he's coming out of it."

He attempted to sit up and then flopped back down. She laughed. The detective glared at her.

"Suppose I ought to get him back to his flat," Lestrade said.

"Which means I ought to come with you, seeing as how someone's going to have to watch him for a bit, but first…" She pulled her mobile out, earning a quizzical look from both Lestrade and Sherlock. She got to the camera setting and grinned at the detective. "Smile," she instructed, grinning. He scowled. She took the picture and laughed. Lestrade joined her.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	13. Reminders

Rose stepped into her flat, hanging her coat up. She retrieved it from the club along with Sherlock's before having Lestrade drive them back to Baker Street. The inspector and Tom, one of the paramedics, were carrying the detective up to his flat, but he couldn't be left on his own for the next eight to ten hours, which meant she wouldn't be spending the evening at her flat.

She walked into her room and pulled open the dresser, grabbing a pair of pajama pants and a top. She couldn't help smiling as she thought about the look on the detective's face when she took that picture. Even though she'd be spending a night on Sherlock's sofa it was worth it.

She retrieved her toothbrush and a few odds and ends she'd need come morning and headed out the door. She stepped into the flat as Lestrade walked out of what appeared to be the kitchen. She glanced around the detective's flat. It was definitely all bachelor. Her mum would have a field day with a mess like that. Rose noted the skull on the mantel with a grin. No wonder he hadn't flipped when he saw the severed hand in her refrigerator.

"Sorry to make you keep an eye on him like this," Lestrade said. "I can't spare the time to sit here and with John and Mary on holiday-"

"John?" she asked, and then realized he must be referring to John Watson.

"Sherlock's friend, great bloke, you'd like him. Well," the inspector said, rubbing the back of his neck, which she knew meant he wanted to get out of there, "I think we're about set."

Tom joined them.

"I gave him something to help him sleep," Tom said.

"It won't react with the Tranquilizer, will it?"

"No and it's not very strong but as I said, you'll need to keep a close eye on him for the next eight to ten hours. If anything happens don't hesitate to call."

"I won't," she promised.

Lestrade and Tom headed out the door. She let out a sigh, glancing around the flat again. She had to resist her instincts, ones instill by her mum, that were screaming at her to straighten things up. Instead she crossed the room and stepped into the loo, depositing her things on the small counter. There was less of a mess in there, which helped.

She changed into her pajama bottoms and a pale blue tank top, brushed her teeth and then unclipped her hair, brushing it out. Once she was finished she headed back out, draping her dress over the back of a wingback chair. She decided to check on Sherlock so she crossed through the kitchen, which proved to be more messy than the other room. There were two experiments. One on the table and another on the stove. She wasn't sure what they were for, but the one on the table bubbled and the one on the stove hissed. She couldn't help smiling. Geniuses and their tinkering.

She paused in the doorway before stepping inside. They wouldn't have undressed him, would they? No, of course not, they would've said otherwise. Still, she peeked around the corner. Dressed, fully dressed. They hadn't even removed his shoes and he was lying on the covers. She sighed.

She walked into the room and around the bed. She couldn't leave him like that. Not with his shoes still on. She bent over and untied his left shoe, then, carefully, pulled it off and sat it on the floor. Then she removed his other one. Now there was only one other matter. She didn't want to wake him so she glanced around his room. She spied a blanket on the top shelf of his closet. After retrieving it she spread the blanket over him. She gave him a once over, satisfied.

Then she crossed the room, but when she went to put out the lights she paused. The paramedic said to keep an eye on him, but surely he didn't mean to watch him all night, did it? _If anything happens don't hesitate to call. _She glanced through the kitchen. She could see the sofa from there, but it seemed pretty far off. No, he'd be fine, still she couldn't flip the switch. What if he choked? Or woke up and was disoriented? There was a side table near his head. What if he got up, groggy from what they gave him and fell? She would hear that, wouldn't she?

She couldn't help thinking about the time the Doctor regenerated. Something had gone terribly wrong. How he got sick and nearly died, or, at least, she thought he was going to die. Seeing Sherlock like that reminded her of seeing the Doctor like that.

She glanced from Sherlock to the sofa and back. She sighed. _Damn! _She couldn't leave him on his own. She turned out the light, but instead of heading through the kitchen she crossed the room and climbed under the covers, the ones he was sleeping on, and laid her head on the pillow. After a few minutes she slept.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	14. John's Return

I know I ought to wait. I really, really ought to wait, but patience is a virtue I forgot to buy. ;-)

* * *

John climbed the familiar stairs that led to the flat he once shared with his best friend. He returned from holiday with Mary last night and came over the first chance he got. He felt bad having to leave so soon after Sherlock's miraculous return from the dead, but he'd promised her and he couldn't let her down.

Sherlock, of course, didn't understand and had argued, but then his friend couldn't understand that sort of thing what with relationships, even passing fancies, not being his area, as the detective pointed out when they first met.

He opened the door and stepped into Sherlock's flat, knowing the only thing he'd ever interrupt with his friend would be an experiment of some sort. He glanced around the room. Empty. Maybe Sherlock was out? He hadn't thought to call or text ahead of time, but that might've been an oversight. He was about to call out for Sherlock when he spied something odd on the back of his friend's chair.

John closed the door and crossed the room, eyeing the strange garment. It couldn't be. He picked it up. It was. A dress. What the devil was Sherlock doing with a dress? He laid the garment back on the chair. Must be something he was working on for a client or the police.

For a moment he thought…John shook his head, smiling at himself. It wasn't anything else. This was Sherlock after all. He turned around, glancing in the kitchen. Empty and there wasn't any…there was a noise. A sort of creak. It came from his friend's room. Was he…? John glanced at his watch. 10 am. Sherlock never slept this long. Maybe he was ill.

He hurried through the kitchen, consumed with worry. He'd never known Sherlock to be sick. The door to his friend's room was open. He stepped inside and…froze. There was…but…no…what? All the gears in John's mind ground to a halt.

Sherlock was in bed all right, but he wasn't alone. There was…but…there couldn't be…but there was…but…There was a woman, but one he'd never seen before. Blonde, petite, wearing a pale blue tank top and well, he had no idea what else because she was under the covers. If that wasn't enough, which it certainly was for John, she was snuggled up next to Sherlock, her arm draped over his chest, but that was…and he was…well, his arm was over hers as if holding it in place, but he…and she…and…What the hell's going on?

He knew he was staring, that he should go, but he couldn't wrench his eyes from the sight. He took a step back, bumped the door and that's when everything changed. The woman's eyes snapped open, she glanced at Sherlock, her face mere inches from the detective's, her eyes widened, Sherlock's eyes opened, his eyes locked on hers, he froze, surprise didn't even begin to cover the look he gave her, John moved, she looked at him, the detective looked at him, they both tried to sit up, Sherlock yelled, "John," as he slid off the bed, grabbing the only thing within reach to stop himself, which turned out to be her arm and she went over after him, and they both landed in a heap on the floor.

"Sorry I…um…I…" John stammered, not entirely sure what to say or what he just walked in on.

"John Watson?" the woman asked, getting to her feet first.

"Y-yes," he replied, the pistons in his mind firing, but not really getting anywhere.

She grinned and he couldn't help smiling back, she had that sort of effect.

"It's a pleasure."

She crossed the room, offering her hand. He took it, glancing at Sherlock who finally managed to stand up and seemed entirely ruffled and completely confused.

"So, um, who're you?" John asked, eyeing his friend.

Sherlock's eyes snapped to his. His friend scowled from the other side of the room.

"She's no-" Sherlock began.

"I'm Rose, Rose Tyler. I live downstairs," she interrupted.

"Downstairs?"

He eyed the detective, grinning.

"Now, look here, John," Sherlock insisted, crossing the room and still a bit out of sorts, which made the doctor grin wider. "It's not what you think."

John raised his brow. The woman shot the detective a passing glance.

"Since he thinks we slept together then technically it's exactly what he thinks," Rose said, giving Sherlock what could only be considered a cheeky grin.

Wait. What?

"Really?" John asked, unable to form any other thought.

"No. No," the detective insisted, shaking his head and far more animated than the doctor had ever seen him. "Well, technically, but that's not the same thing."

"We had dinner and then you took me out to a club and now that we've slept together you want to get into technicalities?" she asked, eyeing his friend, but she was smiling and John couldn't work out exactly why she was doing that.

"Sorry…what?" the doctor asked, glancing from her to Sherlock.

"It was not a date," the detective insisted, a bit more than necessary, making John raise his brow.

"Oh, so now it's not a date?" she asked.

Her smile turned cheeky again, but at the word date John's eyes focused on Sherlock.

"Hang on. You two went out on a date?"

"No," Sherlock snapped.

"Yes," Rose replied at the same time.

A moment later she burst out laughing, earning a scowl from Sherlock. John stared at her wondering if she'd lost her mind or if, perhaps, he'd lost his and this whole thing was some hallucination.

"Come on, John," she said, grinning and taking his arm. "You can help me make tea while he finds his shoes."

He allowed her to lead him into the kitchen feeling a bit dazed by the whole scene. They'd been in bed together, that was apparent, and they'd been sleeping. Had they gone on a date? Well, after seeing that anything was possible.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	15. A Date Or Not A Date?

I really should update my other stories, or write chapters for them anyway, but I'm having too much fun with this one at the moment. :)

* * *

Rose filled the kettle next to a confused John Watson. Waking up next to Sherlock, well, not only next to him, but cuddled up with him had been shocking to say the least. She could still feel his hand on her arm and it had felt…no, she pushed the thought away before it finished forming. Men, especially mad geniuses, were a complication she didn't need, especially now, especially so soon after everything.

She covered her surprise and anxiety the only way she knew how. With humor. It was her defense. And it didn't hurt that she found pleasure in throwing the genius detective for a loop. Surprising him and confusing him was just too much fun. She put the kettle on as she smiled.

"It was not a date," Sherlock insisted, stepping into the room.

"Found your shoes where I left them then?" she asked.

John raised his brow, eyeing the detective.

"Where she left them?" the doctor asked.

"It was not a date," Sherlock repeated, choosing to ignore both Rose's question and John's gaze.

"John?" Rose asked, catching the doctor's eye. "You don't mind if I call you John, yeah? I could call you Dr. Watson or Doctor if you prefer, though that would be a bit confusing for other reasons." Sherlock raised his brow, but she ignored that.

"Um, no, John's fine," the doctor replied. "Actually, I prefer it."

"John then. What would you call it when a bloke asks you to a club, comes over, picks you up, helps you into your coat, opens doors for you, takes you to said club, and buys you drinks?" she asked.

"I'd call that a date."

"Thank you."

She shot a flustered Sherlock her best grin.

"That's not at all…I didn't…we didn't…we were looking for a serial killer," he stammered, making her grin widen.

"Hang on," John interrupted. "What serial killer?"

"But there were drinks and you paid," Rose insisted.

She knew she was provoking him, but she just couldn't help herself.

"That was…It was…you're taking things entirely out of context," the detective snapped.

"Really?" she asked, raising her brow. "Then why'd you get into a row with that bloke who offered to buy me a drink?"

"Sorry…what?" John asked, giving Sherlock a surprised glance. "You got into a row with some bloke?"

"I did not get into a row with some bloke."

"You called him an idiot," she pointed out.

"He was an idiot."

"I thought he was sweet."

Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"Meagerly paid office worker, barely out of his parents' flat, offering you a moronic pickup line-"

The kettle boiled, cutting him off. She grabbed three cups from the cupboard and started making their tea.

"So," John asked, after a moment. "It was a date?"

"It was not a date," Sherlock insisted.

Rose glanced at him as she stepped over to the refrigerator. She grinned.

"There was running."

He almost smiled, but seemed to think better of it.

"Yes, but not for your life."

"No, it was your life this time," she replied, opening the door.

The first thing she spotted, well, things wasn't the milk. There was a bag of toes and something else…she picked it up and turned around, catching Sherlock's eye as she raised her brow.

"That's for an experiment," he insisted.

She caught John's look, which was a mixture of shock, confusion, and disgust.

"And the toes?"

"Another experiment."

"Molly knows you have them, yeah?"

"Of course she knows. Where do you think they came from?"

She shrugged.

"Just making sure you're not pinching them from the morgue because that would be a bit…odd," she replied, giving him that cheeky grin.

"And having body parts in the icebox isn't odd?" John asked.

"Where else would you keep them?" she asked, turning her grin on him. "That reminds me I've still got to test that hand for Molly."

John's eyes widened as he glanced from her to Sherlock and back.

"Hand…what hand?"

"The one in my icebox."

"Hang on. You've got a hand in your icebox?"

She turned around, putting the human heart back where she found it and grabbing the milk.

"You didn't test it last night?" Sherlock asked.

She closed the refrigerator and gave him another cheeky grin.

"What? Before our date?" she asked.

"Yes…No…It was not a date!"

She added milk to their tea and it was everything she could do to keep from laughing.

"Can we get back to the hand in your icebox?" John asked.

"Well, we could, but its clear downstairs," Rose teased.

"No, I meant…exactly why do you have a hand in your icebox?"

"I've got to test it for Molly."

"Wait." The doctor eyed her. "You know Molly?"

"Yes, John, she knows Molly," Sherlock replied as if that was the stupidest question he ever heard. "She knows Mycroft too and Lestrade."

"What?" John glanced from Sherlock to Rose and back. "How?"

She put the milk back in the refrigerator.

"She's the other consulting detective."

"The other…what now? Consulting Detective?"

The doctor caught her gaze. She grinned.

"Yep."

"You're a consulting detective. I mean…really?"

Why did they always ask that? Was it because she was a woman? Or because Sherlock had been the only one until she picked up the title?

"Good thing too otherwise I wouldn't have been there to save him," she replied, nodding toward Sherlock as she handed John a cuppa.

"What do you mean, saved him?" John asked.

She handed Sherlock's tea over.

"We were tracking a serial killer, as I said-" Sherlock began.

"And the idiot genius here ran off on his own to catch her-"

"The what?" Sherlock snapped.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Rose asked, eyeing him. "Is there another term for someone who might be more than brilliant, but can't be bothered to think his plan through enough to consider what might happen if something goes wrong because if there's one thing I know about you lot it's that your plans tend to go wrong, am I right?" she finished, glancing at John.

The doctor smiled. Sherlock glared daggers into her.

"What, exactly, do you mean, you lot?" the detective asked in that calculating way making her realize her mistake.

"Idiot geniuses. Think you're the only one I've meant?" she asked, hoping to throw him off by irritating him.

"I am not-" he yelled.

"So," John interrupted, loudly. "When did you move in?"

She gave him a smile.

"Been here 'bout seven months."

"Wait…but I didn't see you last time I came over."

"She was on an assignment for Mycroft," Sherlock replied, obviously irritated.

Good, at least she got him past her slip.

"You work for Mycroft?" John asked.

She laughed.

"No, not really. He asks for my help sometimes, but I'm not one of his mindless minions if that's what you're asking."

"Mycroft asks you for help?"

"On occasion. Well," she said, setting her cup down, "I probably ought to get a shower and test that hand while I've got the time." Actually she wanted to get out of there before she slipped again. She smiled. "It was a pleasure meeting you, John."

He returned her smile.

"The pleasure was all mine, Rose."

"I've just got to…" She stepped into Sherlock's room, but her phone wasn't on the nightstand. She glanced around the floor. Nope. What…then she realized. She stepped back into the kitchen and walked up to the detective. "I'll have my mobile." He pulled her phone from his trouser pocket and handed it over. "You want to tell me why you had it?"

"I may have deleted that picture," he replied, smiling, as if he was pleased with himself.

"May have?" she inquired, raising her brow. He didn't offer an answer so she shrugged. "Guess I'll have to ask Lestrade to send me his."

"Lestrade?"

"What picture?" John asked.

"I don't recall Lestrade taking a picture," Sherlock continued and she could see he was going over last night in his mind.

"I bet there's a lot you don't recall about last night," she replied, shooting him a cheeky grin, which proved to unnerve him.

She crossed the room. Nothing happened, of course, but flustering him was just too much fun. She decided to collect her things later as she headed downstairs to take a shower.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	16. Poking Fun

John watched Sherlock as his friend, in turn, watched Rose walk through the living room and out the door. Sherlock's eyes stayed on the door for a few moments after she left. The whisper of a smile ghosting across his lips.

Whether Sherlock would admit it or not, which he probably wouldn't, John could tell his friend was taken by the gorgeous blonde. She was also taken by the detective, though she seemed about as willing to admit it as Sherlock was. John smiled. He never thought he'd see the day.

"What are you smiling at?" Sherlock asked, taking John by surprise because he'd been looking at his tea.

He glanced at his friend.

"Oh, um, nothing much," he replied.

The detective gave him a suspicious glance before walking into the living room, toward his chair. John followed. Sherlock paused, noticing her dress draped over the back of his chair. He reached out, as if to touch it, but seemed to think better, shaking his head and stepped around the chair as he sat down. John sat across from him, watching his friend.

Sherlock raised the cup, as if to take a drink, but instead seemed to stare at the tea. John had known his friend long enough to recognize that look. It was the one he got when he was wrestling with a puzzle, one he couldn't quite figure out. The doctor knew exactly what puzzle the detective was working on and her name was Rose Tyler.

"So…have you known her long?" he asked, after a few minutes of silence.

"Two days," Sherlock dismissed and then took a drink of his tea.

Not long then, but long enough for his friend to become more than smitten with her. Then again, it didn't take him long to be taken by Irene Adler, but she introduced herself naked and drugged him. Rose didn't seem the same sort. Actually, she seemed very nearly Irene's opposite.

Beautiful, yes, but funny and far more open and friendly. And her accent, well, she definitely wasn't from a posh family or trying to pretend she was someone else. Not at all the sort of woman Sherlock would be inclined to give a second glance to, not that he ever even glanced at a woman, unless she was a suspect, which had been the case in the beginning with Irene.

"Did you meet her here?" John asked.

"No. A crime scene."

Ah. So, he'd been introduced to her while she was working for Lestrade. Consulting on a crime. Well, that might account for his initial interest.

"You were working with her then."

"You're ability to deduce the obvious is astounding."

Sherlock was getting in one of his moods, but John knew that had more to do with the fact that he was grappling with his emotions. Trying to reason out exactly why he had any interest in Rose. John could've explained it to him, but he knew Sherlock believed himself to be above all that, which he obviously wasn't.

"There is one thing I don't understand," John said.

"Only one?"

He ignored his friend's comment.

"If you two were working together then why'd you take her out on a date?"

Sherlock's eyes trained on him, narrowing.

"It was not a date," he snapped.

John raised his brow.

"No?"

Sherlock glared at him.

"No."

He nodded and then grinned.

"And how'd you wind up in bed together?"

A bit of pink crept into Sherlock's cheeks, making John grin wider.

"Shut up, John."

The detective looked away, as if he found the spray painted smiley face on the wall quite interesting at the moment.

"I'm not stupid you know," John said after a few tense moments crept by.

Sherlock glanced at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" the detective quipped.

"I saw the way you looked at her."

"Sorry?"

"It's all right, Sherlock," John replied, smiling as he took a drink of his tea.

Sherlock seemed a bit confused and it was all John could do to keep from laughing.

"What?" the detective inquired as if he was trying to work out exactly what the doctor was talking about.

John shook his head, still smiling.

"I just never thought I'd see the day."

"The day? What day?" Sherlock snapped, eyeing him. A bit of laugher slipped out, but John managed to stop himself before he completely lost it. He glanced at the detective who glared daggers back as he sat forward. "What the hell are you going on about?"

"You," he managed and then cleared his throat to keep from laughing again.

"Me? What about me?"

He glanced at his friend, raising his brow.

"You fancying someone."

The detective's eyes widened.

"I…what?"

"It's all right. You can admit it."

Sherlock's brows drew together.

"I will do nothing of the sort. I do not fancy her or anyone for that matter. I've told you, it's not my area."

"Maybe not before, but now…"

John grinning, nodding at the closed door. Sherlock glanced from the door to the doctor and then sat back, glaring at him.

"Did you have a reason for your visit?" the detective inquired, very irritated.

"I came over to check in on you. See how you were doing," He smiled, "but I can see that-"

"Oh, shut up John," Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes.

John started laughing. Sherlock sat his cup down and picked up the paper. He knew he should stop, but he couldn't help himself. He never thought he'd get the chance to poke fun at Sherlock over a woman, at least, not like this. He waited while his friend lifted the paper, opened it, and began to read, well, began pretending to read because the detective's mind was on someone else. Then he threw his last grenade into the foxhole.

"So, are you planning on asking her out again or are you going to move on to the next one now that you've slept with her?"

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	17. A Trick Or A Trap?

Sherlock tuned his friend out as he held the paper up, distancing himself from John's comments. There was, of course, nothing between himself and Ms. Tyler. After finding them in bed together John made assumptions, drew conclusions, as other ordinary people tended to do, without observing anything.

If he had, he would have observed that Sherlock was lying on top of the covers and Ms. Tyler was lying under them. There was an entirely different blanket covering him and they were both fully clothed. Sherlock more than her since the top half of her body was covered by only a thin, pale blue tank top. Something he noticed upon waking as she was pressed up against his right side, her arm wrapped around his…he felt the flush in his cheeks and growled in frustration, probably earning John's interest, but he kept the paper between them.

What the devil was wrong with him? She was a woman, that's all, and he didn't indulge in such thoughts, but try as he might he couldn't banish her from his mind. The more he tried the more he thought about how soft the skin of her arm felt under his hand, how her full lips were mere inches from his, the brush of warmth on his cheek before he opened his eyes. _Bloody hell! _

He tried to fold the paper, but wound up practically wadding it up as he tossed it onto the side table, nearly spilling his tea. _Her _tea. The tea she made for him.

"Sherlock?" John asked, and he could hear a bit of worry in his friend's voice, but he ignored that as he sat forward, running his hands over his face.

How had she so thoroughly found a home inside his mind? She was there and he couldn't remove her, couldn't set her aside as he could everything else. She was a trick or a trap. Had to be.

"Sherlock?" John tried again, more worried than the last time.

He ran his hands through his hair, letting out an exasperated sigh. There was a reason. He simply needed to figure out what it was.

"Why is she here?" he asked.

"Sorry?" John inquired.

"Ms. Tyler," he replied, eyeing his friend. "Why is she here?"

"I don't know what you mean."

He stood up and began pacing, mainly to get his mind off thoughts that involved Ms. Tyler and his room and…_bloody hell! _

"She's renting the flat below mine at Mycroft's suggestion," he snapped.

"Hang on. Mycroft suggested she stay here?"

"Yes, but not to watch me. He wanted her where he could keep an eye on her."

"Why would your brother want to keep an eye on her?"

"Because he doesn't want her working for anyone else."

"But she works with Lestrade."

He paused, eyeing his friend.

"Anyone else in his position."

John nodded as he resumed pacing.

"Ah."

Then there was that whole business of how she accidentally ran into his brother.

"And the way she met Mycroft. It's too much of a coincidence," he said.

"How do you mean?" John asked.

He stopped pacing, turning toward his friend.

"According to Ms. Tyler she was exiting a shop at the same time someone stole his briefcase."

"And she got it back?"

He leaned his hand on the back of his chair.

"Took down the thief with her mobile, yes."

John's eyes widened for a moment.

"Sorry…what? She stopped him with her mobile?"

"Knocked him down with it, yes," Sherlock dismissed.

The important part was the coincidence, not what she'd done.

John whistled.

"Impressive."

"Yes, but that's not the point," Sherlock insisted, resting his other hand on the back of his chair and realized that the material didn't feel right.

"It's not?" John asked.

He glanced down and realized his hands were on her…he quickly withdrew his hands, feeling a bit of pink creep into his cheeks. _What the hell's wrong with me? _He rolled his eyes, stuffing his hands in his trouser pockets as he resumed pacing.

"She just happened out of a shop at the same time someone happened to steal Mycroft's briefcase," he snapped, trying to jar his mind back to the train of thought he'd been on and away from the image of her standing in her kitchen wearing that dress and the way it hugged her hips, the brush of her hair against her neck as she…

"You think she set it up?" John asked, interrupting his thoughts.

He blinked. Set it up? Set what up? He paused, going back over their conversation…Ah, the run in with Mycroft. Yes. He eyed John.

"It makes sense," he replied.

"How does that make sense?"

He rolled his eyes.

"If she wanted to get close to me-"

"But…Hang on…she said she moved in seven months ago."

What did that have to do with it?

"So?"

"So, you were dead seven months ago."

"John, if I were dead seven months ago I wouldn't be standing here now."

"No," John sighed, "I mean, everyone thought you were dead. You think out of everyone in the world she somehow knew you were alive?"

Sherlock paused. John was right. Seven months ago the world still believed Sherlock Holmes to be dead. Mycroft knew and Molly, but they wouldn't have told anyone. No matter what he thought of his brother, Mycroft wouldn't betray him like that. He sighed, resuming his seat.

"If she isn't a trick or a trap then what the hell is she?" Sherlock asked.

John laughed. He eyed his friend.

"She's a woman," his friend replied.

No, there was more to it than that.

"There's something else," he replied, sitting back. "There has to be."

"You're right. There is."

His eyes snapped to his friend.

"What is it?"

"She's the only woman to get under your skin. I don't even think Irene…" his friend trailed off as if he wasn't sure he should continue.

John didn't know about the Woman, didn't know she was still alive. No one knew because it wasn't safe, but Sherlock hadn't thought about her in a while, a long while.

"She's nothing like Ms. Adler," he replied, saying her name for the first time in years.

"No, she's not."

There was something behind John's words.

"What do mean, she's not?"

"Rose doesn't strike me as the sort to have a hidden agenda. She's open and…well, sweet." Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes. Sentiment. "She isn't pretending to be someone else." John was completely wrong of course. She was hiding something. He was certain of it. "You're looking for reasons where there aren't any."

"Reasons? Reasons for what?"

"To keep yourself distanced from her."

"Why would I need a reason to do that?"

John raised his brow. Sherlock opened his mouth to shoot off a reply, but stopped when the door opened. Ms. Tyler stepped inside. Black trousers, plumb shirt that dipped a bit low in the…he pushed the thought aside, roughly, and glared at her.

"Are you incapable of knocking?" he snapped.

"Sherlock," John chastised.

"Only as incapable as you are of not being rude," she quipped, giving him a rueful smile as she crossed the room and grabbed his hand before he realized what she was doing.

"What're you…?"

He tried to pull his hand away, at least, that's what he intended to do, but his body wasn't listening and it allowed her to grab his other one and pull him out of his chair.

"There's been a kidnapping," she explained, then glanced at John. "I could use your help too, if you're up for it."

"Of course," his friend replied, setting down the nearly empty cup as he stood.

"Help?" Sherlock asked, as if it was the worst idea he ever heard.

"Aww, come on," she coaxed, grabbing his coat and helping him into it. Then she grabbed his lapels and leaned against him, catching his eye and sporting that cheeky grin, the one that somehow banished all rational thought from his mind. His eyes locked on hers and he could smell the strawberry in her hair with a hint of Jasmine coming from her skin. His hand, horrid thing that it was, reached for the back of her waist. "It'll be our second date. You can even buy me chips."

Then she released him and stepped back. He blinked and she was out the door, bounding down the stairs.

"Come on then, Romeo," John said.

He glared at his friend who was sporting a very amused smile.

"Oh, shut up, John," he snapped, wrapping his scarf around his neck as he followed his friend out the door.

* * *

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Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	18. Cab Rides And Screwdrivers

Rose slid into the cab as Sherlock and John stepped out the door. The detective was in a mood, but it wasn't the first time she'd dealt with that. She grinned. Geniuses and their moods. He was a lot like the Doctor when they first met. Brilliant, moody, a bit awkward around people, more than a bit. If she hadn't let a nine hundred year old alien get the best of her then she certainly wasn't about to let a human detective get the upper hand.

John climbed in and sat across from her, middle of the seat, most likely on purpose, giving Sherlock no alternative, but to sit beside her. She caught the grin the doctor shot the detective and the glare Sherlock returned as she leaned forward and gave directions to the cabbie.

When she sat back she noted the amused smirk on John's face. He seemed to be enjoying his friend's discomfort. There was a bit of a cab ride ahead and she didn't want to let the good doctor down so she wove her arm through Sherlock's, startling him, at least, if that look on his face was any indication.

"I thought I'd let you two take the lead on this one, if you don't mind," she said, giving him a smile.

"The lead?" Sherlock asked, as if he had no idea what she meant.

"On the case," she replied, grinning as she gave his arm a squeeze.

He shook his head and then seemed to realize what she was talking about.

"The lead on the case. Yes." John started to laugh, but turned it into a cough. She shot him a grin and noticed the scowl Sherlock gave the doctor.

"I've got the sonic so that'll help because we won't have to wait on forensics-"

"Sonic?" the detective asked, his eyes completely focused on her.

_Damn! _

"My scanner," she replied.

"You called it a sonic."

"What is that exactly?" John asked.

"Well, it's…um…" She glanced from Sherlock to John. If she was going to be working with them, and obviously she'd be working with at least Sherlock on a few cases, then she needed to tell them. Not everything, of course, who would believe that? But a few things, mainly the sonic since she tended to use it a lot. She took her arm out of Sherlock's and pulled the device out of her pocket. "It's a sort of scanner. It's called a sonic, well, sonic screwdriver actually."

Both the detective and the doctor stared at it.

"Screwdriver?" John asked.

She caught his gaze and laughed.

"Which doesn't make a lot of sense since its rubbish on wood."

"May I see it?" Sherlock asked. She paused, glancing from the device to him. She hadn't let anyone else touch it since she got stuck in that universe. "I'll be careful."

"All right," she said, handing it over.

"So, what's it do?" John asked.

"A bit of everything." The doctor raised his brow. "I've used it to scan bodies to get the cause of death, time of death, any compounds, chemical or otherwise in the bodies that aren't supposed to be there, unlock doors, deactivate machines, disarm suspects, check for hidden passageways, detect electronic devices, and loads of other stuff."

His eyes widened.

"That device does all that?"

She grinned.

"Yep."

"Where did you get it?"

She could feel Sherlock's eyes on her.

"A friend."

The truth, but she wasn't planning on explaining about her friend and she hoped they wouldn't ask.

"And where did your friend acquire it?" the detective asked.

She turned to Sherlock and held her hand out. He seemed reluctant, but he handed her sonic back.

"He made it."

He raised his brow.

"Your friend?"

"Yep," she replied, giving him a grin. "He was a bit like you. Genius, moody, mind running at a billion kilometers a minute," she glanced at John, "I'd say hour, but let's be honest, yeah?" The doctor grinned. "Always asking me what I thought and then he'd rattle something off and give me this look." She caught his eye. "You know which one I'm talking about, yeah? Makes you feel like you just dribbled on your chin."

"He gets that look," John said, smiling.

"I know. I was on the receiving end of it last night," she said and then laughed. John joined her.

"If you two are quite finished," Sherlock snapped after a minute. "You might find that the cab has arrived at our destination."

She glanced at him as he opened the door and stepped out. She followed him, still grinning because she was reminded of the time she met Sarah Jane and they'd had a similar conversation and laugh at the Doctor's expense.

* * *

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Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	19. A Case Of Kidnapping

John followed Sherlock and Rose up to the crime scene. A posh house on the well to do side of town, but he wasn't thinking about the case. He was thinking about his best friend and the woman who had come into his life. She wasn't a trick or a trap. She was exactly what he needed. Just what the doctor would have ordered. He grinned.

Ever since Sherlock's return, well, after he vented his hostility over the fact that the detective had let him believe he'd been dead for two years, John had been concerned. He didn't live at Baker Street anymore and he was in a serious relationship, which left a lot of time for Sherlock to be on his own. The detective needed someone and John couldn't always be that someone. He was there as much as he could be, but he also had Mary and he couldn't leave her on her own all the time.

Rose was clever, she'd have to be for Mycroft to ask for her help and she'd have to be able to handle herself. Using a mobile to take down a suspect told him that she was both. She'd also seen the battlefield, same as John. A soldier could always spot another soldier, but she wasn't tormented by it, at least, not that he could tell. She was cheery and bright and more than witty.

She also knew what she was getting with Sherlock. She mentioned having a friend just like him, although, John couldn't imagine anyone being like his friend. The point was, she could handle him. He could see that back at the flat and in the cab. Yes, she would be good for him and she could be there when John wasn't. Somehow he had to find a way to make Sherlock see that. Although, he had no idea how he was going to do that. Might do to talk to Mary. She was good at that sort of thing and she got on with Sherlock.

He stepped inside the house as Sherlock and Rose drew up to Lestrade.

"Where are we then?" the detective asked.

"Upstairs," the inspector said, crossing the room toward the staircase. Sherlock fell in step right behind, Rose followed closely, and John trailed her. "Looks like the boy was taken from his room."

"How old is he?" Rose asked.

He could hear the concern in her voice. He didn't have to see it to know that Sherlock was, most likely, rolling his eyes and thinking something about sentiment.

"Five. Just turned last week," Lestrade replied, hurrying up the stairs.

"How much?" Sherlock asked.

"How did you…?" Lestrade began, glancing back at the detective. "Oh, never mind. Fifty thousand."

"How did you work that out?" Rose asked.

"Six officers in the home including our inspector. Far fewer than there would be otherwise. Plus I spotted Brindle heading into the kitchen," the detective explained.

"Bindle," Lestrade corrected.

"Bindle. Yes," Sherlock dismissed. "He works the phone taps. Kidnapping, tapping the phones. Wasn't difficult to work out there was a ransom demand."

John smiled. It still amazed him how Sherlock could work things out. They reached the top of the stairs and followed Lestrade into a young boy's room. Dinosaur print wallpaper, comforter, pillow case. Stuffed animals were scattered over the unmade bed. The thing that drew his attention was the window. Open and it had obviously been forced. The wood splintered in a few places.

Sherlock was drawn to the window. The detective pulled his magnifying glass and began inspecting it. Rose, on the other hand, seemed more taken by the bed and a small carpet that covered part of the wooden floor.

"Crowbar from the outside," Sherlock said.

The detective poked his head out the window and looked down. John walked over to join him.

"Five, maybe five and a half meters up," the detective judged.

"Do you know what he used?" John asked.

"Ladder by the looks of it. It's lying on the ground under the window."

"Strange, don't you think?"

Sherlock pulled his head back in and caught John's gaze.

"What's that?"

"That he'd pull the ladder down after. You'd think he'd want to get away. Not stop long enough to pull the ladder down."

"Or her," Rose quipped.

John turned to her.

"Sorry?" he asked.

"Could've been a woman."

"No, you're right."

She gave him a grin that he returned. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, did you notice?" she asked, glancing at the detective. "The rug." She pointed it out.

Sherlock walked over to her. He gazed at the rug a moment and then at the bed and back.

"That's…" He caught her gaze and…wait…did he just smile at her? She grinned back.

"Good, yeah?"

"Very good, Ms. Tyler."

She eyed the detective.

"You can call me Rose."

"Sorry," Sherlock asked as if he didn't understand what she meant.

"Seeing as it's my name."

"What about the rug?" John asked, diffusing the situation that was about to become awkward, at least, for Sherlock and that would put him in a mood.

"See how close it is to the bed?" she asked, turning her attention to him.

"And that means?" John asked, trying to work out what the rug had to do with anything.

"Dumbwaiter," Sherlock announced.

Both Rose and John turned to him. The detective was standing on the other side of the room examining a little door in the wall that must lead to the small lift. Sherlock tried to open it, but it seemed stuck fast. Rose joined him, pulling out her sonic. The detective glanced at her.

"The father said he nailed it shut a while back. Was afraid the boy might open it and fall in," Lestrade explained.

"See there," Rose said, pointing out something on the door that John couldn't see, but he did catch the way Sherlock caught her gaze and the smile the detective gave her.

"Precisely," his friend replied.

"You don't mean?" she asked, her eyes widening as a look of concern crossed her face.

"Basement," Sherlock said and in the next moment both he and Rose raced out the door.

"What is it?" he yelled, chasing after them, Lestrade right behind.

He followed them down the stairs, into the kitchen, through a door, and down the stairs.

"Keep them out, inspector," Sherlock called as he rushed into the basement. The detective flipped on the light and hurriedly gazed around the room.

"There," he said, indicating the far wall where a door to the small lift was visible.

John stood back as both Rose and Sherlock ran to the door. There was a lock on the door. She pulled her device and pointed it at the lock. It emitted a strange warbling sound and the lock snapped open. Sherlock pulled it off and opened the door. The boy was inside. His hands and legs were tied and there was tape over his mouth. The boy scooted back, trying to get as far away from the detective as he could. His eyes growing bigger by the second. He was terrified and John was sure he would've screamed if not for the tape.

"It's okay. We've got you," Rose said in a comforting, almost motherly voice.

He watched Sherlock step out of the way. It wasn't just that this wasn't his area, although John was sure that would be the excuse he used, but the detective was entirely focused on her, but not in a calculating sort of way. More like he hadn't seen her before. John knew that look and he knew what it meant. He grinned.

"You're all right," she said as she untied the ropes and carefully removed the tape. "Shh, now, it's okay. Your mum's upstairs." The boy scooted toward her as she reached for him. "Come on."

The boy allowed her to lift him out of the dumbwaiter and pick him up. He wrapped his arms around her neck as if she were the last life preserver on a sinking ship. She stroked the boy's hair as she caught Sherlock's gaze.

"Were you going to…?" she asked, glancing at the stairs.

Sherlock had been smiling, John saw it, but at her question he seemed to shake himself. Probably wondering what the hell he was doing, if the doctor knew anything about his friend.

"Yes. Right," the detective replied.

"I'll keep him down here until the excitement's over."

"Yes. Good idea," Sherlock replied and then headed for the stairs, but he caught the way his friend glanced back at her halfway up the stairs. The detective wore an almost conflicted look.

John walked over to stand next to her. He knew Sherlock was wrapping things up. If the boy was there and there had been a ransom that meant it was an inside job and he was sure Sherlock already worked out who was responsible. Rose glanced at him.

"You're going to miss the excitement," she teased, giving him a grin that he returned.

"He can handle things," he replied.

He had something else on his mind. A question that formed while he watched the way she interacted with the boy. Only, he wasn't sure how to ask without coming right out and saying it.

"You're very good with him," he said after a minute.

"Aw, well, he's sweet, just scared, you know. And who wouldn't be. A bit heavy though."

"Oh." He gazed around the room. There were four folding chairs stacked up against the wall on his right. He hurried over and grabbed two. Then carried them back and opened one for her and one for himself. "Here."

"Thanks," she said, setting down with the boy as he sat in the other chair. "I think he fell asleep."

He could see the boy's eyes were closed.

"Sure did."

"Probably been in there scared out of his head for a while. I'd like a word with whichever one did this to him."

She was the caring sort and he could tell it made her angry to see someone hurt, especially someone so defenseless. He couldn't blame her.

"I'm sure Lestrade could arrange that."

"If anyone did that to my brother I don't know what I'd do."

"Your brother?" he asked.

"He's the same age," she said and then her eyes grew sad, "or, at least, he was the last time I saw him. He had a birthday last month so he'd be six now."

"They don't live around here then?" he asked.

She had a London accent. Had her family moved away?

"No, they're gone."

There was something in the way she said that, something behind her words.

"Gone?"

"I…um…" She sighed. "I lost them."

He caught the look in her eyes. A look he recognized. And he knew.

"Oh…oh…oh, god, I'm sorry."

"The boy's mother is ready if you wouldn't mind," Sherlock said from the stairs, interrupting them.

John had never been so grateful for his friend's ability to interrupt his conversations. Rose stood up and crossed the room still carrying the boy while Sherlock walked down the stairs. The doctor wanted to say something to her, but he wasn't sure what so he remained quiet until she was out of earshot.

"You were listening," he said.

"I didn't want to interrupt," Sherlock replied.

He knew his friend well enough to know he was lying.

"You were hoping she'd reveal something and she did." He watched his friend gaze at up the stairs, still wearing that conflicted look. "She's lost her whole family. That's what she was hiding."

"If we believe what she said."

John sighed. Sometimes his friend could be a real prick.

"She wasn't lying. I could see it in her eyes. She isn't a trick or a trap. She's a good, decent, beautiful woman and for some reason, one that I can't understand at the moment, she cares for you."

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock asked, catching John's gaze, his eyes widening for a moment.

"Yes, Sherlock, that's right. She cares for you and if you weren't being such a bloody idiot by trying to prove to yourself that your interest in her has to stem from something other than the fact that you care for her too then maybe you would have observed it to."

"I don't care for her. I don't do that sort of thing."

"Right," John turned and walked toward the stairs. "You keep telling yourself that."

"Where are you going?" Sherlock demanded and he could hear his friend following.

"As for me it's been a day and I'm going home to Mary because unlike you I'm not afraid to admit that I care for someone."

"I'm not afraid, John."

"You know what's really sad, Sherlock?" he asked, stopped at the top of the stairs and turning around to eye his friend.

"What's that?" his friend demanded, glancing around the now empty kitchen.

"I bet you really believe that."

He turned and walked out of the room. John had no idea how he was going to get Sherlock to see that his theory about Rose was completely wrong and the doctor knew he was going about it all wrong, but after hearing her say she lost her family, after seeing that look in her eyes. He knew that look. He'd seen it in the mirror. Its how he felt after Sherlock died, after he thought his friend died. Then having Sherlock say he thought she was making it up. It was too much. He had to get out of there before he did something he'd regret.

* * *

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Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	20. Could She Be Real?

Sherlock walked out the door in time to watch John climb into a cab. His friend was wrong, completely wrong. He wasn't sure where John had gotten the idea that he cared for Ms. Tyler. His interest began with the fact that she had woven her way into every part of his life.

It may be possible that she wasn't after him, more than possible since John pointed out that the world believed him to be dead, but she was after something. Had to be. He noticed the boy's step-father, the one who had orchestrated the kidnapping in order to receive the ransom and run off with his mistress. The man was cuffed, but instead of sitting in the back of a patrol car he was being attended by a paramedic as he sat in the back of an ambulance.

Something must have happened after he walked down to retrieve John and Ms. Tyler. The man hadn't sustained any injuries prior. He struggled a bit when he was being cuffed, but that hadn't lasted very long.

Ms. Tyler was talking to Lestrade who seemed upset with her over something. She spotted Sherlock. He paused, catching her gaze and raising his brow, glancing at the ambulance. She said something to the inspector and then hurried over to join him. Keeping her close was the best way to find out what she was up to.

"What did Lestrade want?" he asked when she reached him.

She glanced at the ambulance as they started walking.

"He's not too happy."

"I could see that. What happened?"

"It was an accident," she replied, but he could tell by her grin that whatever it was had been anything, but an accident. "I was talking to the step-father, wanted to ask him something, but the door slipped."

"Slipped?" he asked.

"Twice," she laughed.

He found himself chuckling before he could catch himself. He hailed a cab, glancing at her as he opened the door. Could John be right? Could she simply be a clever, descent, beautiful woman who he had begun to care for? No, he dismissed the idea. He didn't do that sort of thing.

He slid into the cab next to her, but before he could tell the driver to drop them at Baker Street Ms. Tyler took his arm. Something he found quite distracting and uncomfortable. He glanced at her and she gave him THAT smile. The one that banished all rational thought and he felt himself smile in return.

"So, know any decent fish and chip shops?" she asked.

"I…" How the hell was she able to do that? "Yes. I know of one."

He gave the driver directions and the cab pulled out. As he glanced out the window, to distract himself from the woman sitting beside him, far too close with her arm wrapped around his, she distracted him further by doing something he didn't at all expect. She leaned her head against his shoulder. Why was she doing that? He glanced at her and found that she was gazing at him. She smiled.

"Not a lot of running with that one," she said.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, not entirely sure what she meant.

"We could do with another serial killer, yeah? Not that I want anyone to die or anything, but I liked the running and they're more clever than kidnappers. At least that one."

"I always like the clever ones," he replied.

"It's more fun." He gazed at her a moment. Could she be real? This woman who joked about Molly leaving body parts in her refrigerator, who worked out that one of the parents had kidnapped the boy without using her device, who ran into a flat to save him from a serial killer. "What?" she asked a bit self-consciously and he realized he must have been staring for a few minutes.

"You really broke two of his fingers?" he inquired.

She pulled her head off his shoulder and caught his gaze.

"Accidentally," she replied with a grin that he allowed himself to return. "Good job it wasn't my brother or a couple broken fingers would be the least of his worries."

"I'm sorry."

"What about?"

"Your family." He knew what John meant now. He could see it in her eyes. Overwhelming loss. It was there for a moment and then gone, but that moment was enough. "I…overheard when I was walking down the stairs."

Back in the basement he'd been too far away to see that look in her eyes. He believed she was lying. That it was a ruse to gain John's trust. He knew now that he'd been mistaken. Was his friend right? Was he looking for a reason to keep himself distanced because he was afraid of admitting that he had feelings for Ms. Tyler?

"Thank you," she muttered before leaning her head against his shoulder once more.

He glanced at her and then focused his attention out the window. No, he refused to believe that he had feelings for her. He didn't do that sort of thing. It was a weakness, a flaw, one he wouldn't allow. She couldn't be this person. It may be true that she had lost her family and she was clever, but it couldn't all be true. Some of it was a lie, a facade. He would find the lie, reveal who she was, reveal the truth. Once he knew the truth there wouldn't be anything left to interest him. He was drawn to her because he knew she was hiding something, that air of mystery. It had nothing to do with sentiment or feelings.

* * *

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Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	21. Mary's Plan

John opened the door and stepped into the flat he shared with his fiancé. He was still irritated with Sherlock. For a genius his friend could be very thick sometimes, most of the time, pretty much all the time.

"Mary, I'm back," he called.

"In here," she replied from the living room. He could hear the telly. She must be watching a movie or one of her programs. "Didn't expect you back so soon." He stepped into the living room. She turned from her seat on the sofa and gave him a smile, but she must have caught the irritation he wore. "Did you two have a domestic?"

"You could say that," he replied, crossing the room and sitting down next to her.

"Did he do that thing again? Where he asks you what you think happened and then tells everyone what really happened?" she asked in that teasing way that always made him feel better.

"No he was too busy being a prick," he snapped and then caught her gaze with an apologetic look. "Sorry, didn't mean to take it out on you."

"He really got under your skin this time, didn't he?"

"He might be a genius, but he's the thickest person I've ever met."

"So, are you going to tell me what this is about or keep telling me what I already know?"

"He met someone."

"He met someone?" she asked, as if she wasn't sure what he was talking about.

"That's right."

"What? You mean someone else to solve cases with?"

"They have worked on cases together, but that's not what I mean."

"Is it jealousy then? You're jealous because he's working with someone else," she asked, again in that teasing way.

"No, nothing like that. He met a woman."

"I'm sorry? What? Are you…" she gave him a disbelieving smile. "Are you telling me that your friend, Sherlock Holmes, met a woman?"

"Yep."

"One he likes?"

"If he'd let himself admit it, yeah."

"And she likes him back?"

"It seems that way."

"What do you mean, it seems that way?"

"You'd have to see for yourself."

She grinned, motioning to his pocket where he kept his mobile.

"Well, what're you waiting for? Ring them up."

What did she want to do? Invite them over?

"I don't have her number and even if I did I don't think Sherlock would come over knowing she was coming too."

She eyed him.

"I thought you said he likes her."

"More than likes her, but he won't admit it. He's gotten it into his head that she's up to something and that's why he's interested in her. His exact words were _she's a trick or a trap."_

She grinned.

"He's got it bad, doesn't he? Where's she live? Maybe we could pop over."

"221 Baker Street. She rents the basement flat."

He could see the gears in Mary's mind turning as she formulated a plan. She was good at that sort of thing.

"Could you get her number? Do you know someone who might have it?"

"I suppose Greg probably has it, since she's done some consulting for him."

"Do that. Call Greg, get her number, and ring her up."

He pulled his mobile out of his pocket.

"Why am I doing this?" he asked, as he dialed the inspector's number.

She smiled conspiratorially. Yep, she had a plan.

"Find out if she'll be home tonight so we can drop by."

The phone rang once and Lestrade picked up.

"Hello?" the inspector asked.

"Hi, yeah, it's John…Watson," he replied.

"John. Hi. What can I do you for?"

"Um. Yeah. I was hoping you had Rose's number."

"Rose," Mary said, testing out the name. "I like that. That's a nice name."

"Is that Mary I hear?" Lestrade asked.

"Yeah. She wanted to drop by Rose's flat. Introduce herself."

"Ah, that's nice. You've got a good woman there, John."

He couldn't help smiling at that.

"I know and she won't let me forget it."

Mary gave him a playful shove, knowing who he was talking about because it's something he often said.

"I'll send you her number."

"Thanks, Greg."

Lestrade hung up and a moment later John received his text with Rose's number.

"Well, call her," Mary said, giving him another playful shove.

He typed in the number. She had a plan, but he wasn't sure what it was.

"I still don't understand why we're doing this."

"You said I had to see it for myself."

"Right, but Sherlock's not going to be there."

"You think he'll be able to stay away when we go over there? You know as well as I do he'll want to know why we're there, which will bring him over to her flat."

Oh. He smiled. That was a very good plan. If they showed up at Rose's flat, dinner in hand Sherlock would notice and he'd be curious and eventually he'd come down to find out what was going on. He wouldn't be able to leave either. Not with them still there.

"You're a sneaky woman you are," John said, giving her a smile.

"Hello?" Rose asked on the other end of the line.

"Hi. Hello. Rose?" he inquired.

He'd only met her that morning by walking in on her and Sherlock in bed together and now, ringing her up, he started to feel a bit awkward. What would she make of it?

"Yeah?" she inquired as if she wasn't sure what to make of some bloke ringing her up. Brilliant.

"It's John. John Watson."

"Oh, John," she said in that cheery voice that made anyone she spoke to feel like they were her best mate. He didn't have to see her to know she was smiling which made him smile.

"I got your number from Greg, hope that's all right."

"Oh, sure, that's all right."

She didn't ask who Greg was, which told him she knew, but then she was far more people friendly than his friend.

"I was wondering if you were going to be home tonight."

"Why is John calling you?" Sherlock asked in the distance.

"What? A girl can't go on more than one date a night?" she teased.

"We're not on a date," the detective insisted.

John chuckled. Mary mouthed _what's going on? _He put his hand over the receiver.

"She's with Sherlock," he replied.

"Are they working a case?" she asked.

"You bought the chips," Rose quipped and he could almost hear her grinning.

"I think he took her to a fish and chip shop," John explained.

Mary leaned closer.

"Wait. Are they on a date?" she inquired.

"Not according to Sherlock." He gave her a grin that she returned and then took his hand off the receiver. "So, were you going to be home?"

"Oh, sorry, yeah. I'll be home. Didn't have much planned, just some telly and a bath."

"Do you mind if we come over? Me and Mary. Thought we'd pick up some dinner on the way, make a night of it, if that's all right."

"That sounds brilliant. What time you think?"

"Oh, I don't know," John replied and then put his hand over the receiver. "She wants to know what time."

"Well, its three now," Mary said, glancing at her watch. "How about six?"

He took his hand off the receiver.

"Six sound good?"

"Yep, six sounds great."

"See you then," he said before hanging up. He glanced at Mary. "We're all set."

He pocketed his mobile and then put his arm around his fiancé's neck, settling back to watch the rest of the movie that was playing on the telly. They had a few hours before they needed to leave.

* * *

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	22. Fishing

Rose pocketed her mobile after hanging up. She could feel Sherlock's eyes on her the entire time, but she purposely avoided eye contact as she popped a chip into her mouth and found the people outside the window quite interesting. She knew he was waiting for her to tell him what John wanted, but he'd been quiet since the cab ride and two could play that game.

"John's coming over to your flat this evening," Sherlock finally said after a few minutes of silence. A statement. Not a question. "Why?"

She turned her attention to him. He was irritated, that was apparent. Probably a bit because she didn't come out and tell him right away and a bit because he didn't know what was going on. He liked knowing. She grinned.

"He's bringing dinner," she replied.

"You're having dinner with John?"

He became more irritated by the idea and there was something else. It was the same look her first Doctor got and she would've called it jealousy if she didn't know him better. Not that she knew him that well, but he didn't seem the sort.

"John and Mary," she said.

That look dissolved, but he was still irritated. Was it jealousy? No, he didn't think of her that way. He'd made it perfectly clear that he didn't think of anyone that way and she didn't need that sort of complication anyway. No matter how she felt.

"Why? You don't even know Mary," he replied.

"I think that's the point."

"I'm sorry?"

"She wants to meet me."

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because John's a nice person and she's probably a nice person and that's what nice people do."

"Why do you assume she's a nice person?"

She rolled her eyes, which made him scowl. Brilliant.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"The world is filled with more criminals than _nice people _as you call them."

That was an awful way to think.

"You can't lump people into categories like that."

"Why not?"

If that's the way he saw the world then no wonder he was alone.

"People make mistakes. That's what it is to be human."

"Human?" he asked and she could see that look. The one that told her she said something she shouldn't have.

"Yeah," she replied, carefully.

"Why would you say that?"

She shrugged.

"It's just a phrase."

His brows narrowed in that calculating sort of way.

"It seems odd."

He was fishing. Always with the fishing. Trying to get her to spill her secrets and she'd had about enough of it. It was either that or the silent treatment since John walked in on them that morning.

"You're right. You've found me out," she revealed.

"Found you out?" he asked, sitting forward with more interest than he'd had all day.

"You think I've been hiding something, yeah?"

"I've…suspected."

"You think I'm not who I say I am, yeah? Well, you're right because I'm really a nine hundred year old alien from the planet Gallifrey in a parallel universe. I have a blue police box that's bigger on the inside and can travel in time and space." She knew she was nearly shouting, but she didn't care. She'd had enough of this man who reminded her so much of the one she once loved, the one she lost, the one who, like Sherlock, didn't reciprocate her feelings. She knew she cared for the man sitting before her, but it would be another one sided relationship with her falling in love and him not. She couldn't do that again. "Now that you know everything there is to know about me you won't mind sodding off!"

She got to her feet and stormed out of the shop, ignoring the looks from the other customers. She didn't care what they thought and she didn't care what Sherlock thought. She told herself she wasn't going to, but she'd gone and complicated her life again. She'd found another genius who wasn't able to have a real relationship.

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	23. Calculations

I know this one's really short, next one will be longer, promise. :)

* * *

Sherlock sat in the shop after Ms. Tyler's outburst and sudden departure. His eyes trained on the door, but without seeing it. He was conflicted. Part of him, some deep rooted, he shivered, feeling screamed at him to run after her. Apologize. Do whatever necessary to take that disappointed, pained look from her eyes. That, of course, was nothing more than sentiment. Emotions. And he wouldn't allow himself to be ruled by such things. Would never indulge in such fancies.

The rest of him, the calculating detective, the detached observer, he was far too busy going over her speech to notice anything as ordinary as feelings. Her speech was given in haste. In the hurried moment of anger. That was when people slipped. When they revealed hidden truths. She, of course, wasn't what she angrily boasted about being, but her choice in words were…odd. Specific and odd. Not merely an alien. A nine hundred year old alien. Why nine hundred? What significance could that number hold?

Not from another planet. From Gallifrey. Why Gallifrey? What was Gallifrey? A city? A building? An institute of some sort? And why parallel universe? Was it the word parallel or the word universe that was significant? Then there was her use of time and space. Why both? It seemed odd. Was she meaning that the blue police box was some sort of ship? If so then why say time? Space ships traveled in space. Time travel was something else entirely.

Wait. He grabbed a napkin and pulled a pen from his pocket and began to write. _I'm really a nine hundred year old alien from the planet Gallifrey in a parallel universe. I have a blue police box that's bigger on the inside and can travel in time and space._ When he was finished he looked it over. Could it be a code? Why would she give him a code? He took out every third word. _A year from Gallifrey parallel have police bigger inside travel and. _He read over the results. No, that wasn't it. He tried another method, and another, and yet another. As he worked at it everything else fell away, which was what usually happened, people, the chip shop, time, nothing else penetrated his focus. Finally, he sat back, napkins with writing scrawled across them littered the table, but none of them were right.

There was something to what she said. Some meaning behind it. He was sure. It was far too specific to be anything else. But its meaning remained with Ms. Tyler and if he had any chance to discover what that was he'd have to get the answers from her. Only, she told him, quite literally, to sod off. Well, he'd have to fix that.

He might not know who Ms. Tyler was, but he knew what she was, as John so adamantly put it. Ms. Tyler was a woman and women were, well, easily dissuaded by charm. Yes, he'd charmed his way into gaining Molly's help on more than one occasion. Then there was John and Mary. He could use them. They were going over to Ms. Tyler's flat at six. Six! His eyes shot to the clock on the wall in the chip shop. Fifteen after Five. Enough time to prepare. He stood up, dropping a few notes on the table before heading out the door, a plan already formulated. A plan that would enable him to gain Ms. Tyler's complete trust.

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	24. Charm

Rose sat on the sofa, looking through the pictures in her mobile, not the one she normally used, the other one. The one she had before she met a certain mad man who changed her life. She usually kept it tucked away, but her blow up with Sherlock had scratched at old wounds. Ones that hadn't fully healed and now she was doing something she rarely did these days, thinking about the past.

She gazed at the picture of her and the Doctor, the one she first fell in love with. Leather jacket, black jumper, giving her that _because I'm clever _grin as he explained something to do with the TARDIS. She was facing him as he pointed to one of the levers on the console, wearing her own grin because how could she not when he was being so clever? Mickey had taken the picture at her request. She could see the memory play out in her mind.

_The Doctor had taken her home to visit Mickey and her mum, but her mum had gotten on her nerves, which she had a tendency to do, especially after she found out who the Doctor really was. So, Rose had gone out to the TARDIS after they had a row. Mickey waylaid her and followed her inside._

_The Doctor heard her come in and came up from working under the console, but when he spotted Mickey he got that look, the one he always got around Mickey and pretty much any other bloke she chatted with. _She smiled. He liked her even back then, but he'd never admit it. _She could tell that he was about to return to his work under the console, but she wanted cheering up and, although she loved Mickey, the Doctor was much better at that sort of thing so she stopped him by asking a question. He never could resist answering, especially if he knew it would make him sound like the cleverest person in the room, which it almost always did._

_"__So," she said, catching his attention as she casually leaned against the console. "I know that's the lever that starts the TARDIS, yeah?"_

_He glanced at her and then the lever._

_"__Yes," he answered, giving her a smile as he became the center of attention. She grinned in return. "I pull that and it starts these things in here moving." He pointed to the glass chamber in the center of the console. "It's called a Time Rotor."_

_"__Time Rotor?" Mickey snickered. "Sounds a bit made up."_

_She knew Mickey was getting jealous. He could be like that, especially around the Doctor. _

_"__It's not," the Doctor insisted, folding his arms and she knew she was about to lose him._

_"__Hey, Micks," she said, pulling out her phone and handing it to him. "Give us a picture, would you?"_

_"__A picture of you and him?" he asked, taking her mobile._

_"__If you would," she replied._

_He wasn't happy about it, but he stepped around them as he accessed the camera in her phone._

_"__So, um," she glanced over the console. "What does this lever do then?"_

_"__Oh, well, now, that's an interesting one. Installed that myself after my last trip to Italy. Who knew rats could be so dangerous?" the Doctor said._

_"__Rats?" she asked, grinning._

_"__Space rats. Had to find their mum, talk about overprotective," he replied, grinning._

_She laughed._

_"__You think your mum's overprotective. You should've seen her. Seven foot at least and all these baby rats. You haven't seen anything until you've seen a wave of baby rats coming after you."_

_"__Think I'll take your word on that."_

A knock at the door drew her out of her thoughts. She glanced at the time. Five Forty. They must be early. She brushed away the stray tears that always came when she thought about the past, about everything she'd lost, as she set her phone on the coffee table and stood up to cross the room.

She opened the door, but instead of revealing Mary and John on the other side, she found Sherlock. He gave her a smile and it came so easily that it immediately made her suspicious.

"Hello," he greeted.

"Hello," she replied, slowly, without stepping out of the way.

She'd calmed down since their row, but she didn't feel like putting up with his questions and they way he picked at everything she said. Examining every word the same way he examined a crime scene.

"I've, um, brought wine," he said, holding up the bottle. She raised her brow. Why was he brining her wine? "For, um, your dinner party…get together," he corrected, "with John and Mary." There was a reason. There had to be. He wasn't the sort to just show up with a bottle of wine to be polite. She hadn't known him very long, but she'd knew him enough to know he was anything, but polite. He noticed her hesitation. "It's an excellent vintage." When she still hesitated he continued, "I understand if you don't want my company right now, but I wanted to make up for my behavior earlier today."

He was…wait…was he apologizing? The wine was his attempt at an apology? If he was trying to make up for his behavior she didn't want to close the door in his face, literally. Everyone deserved a second chance.

"Thank you," she said, opening the door. "I don't have an ice bucket, but you can set it in the refrigerator for now." She led him into the kitchen where the kettle had boiled while she was lost in remembering the past. "I was just going to make myself a cup of coffee, but I could make you a cup of tea. I don't know many people who are keen on the stuff, but I had a couple friends who liked it and sometimes I have a cup to remember them, you know?" She glanced at him and caught the way he was looking at her, as if he was trying to work something out, but then he gave her another one of those easy smiles that for some reason reminded her of the Doctor's psychic paper, which was strange. She pulled down two cups. "I take mine sweet, two sugars, how do you take yours?"

"Um…" he paused and she glanced at him, he seemed confused, but it was gone a moment later. "The same."

"Two sugars it is," she said, retrieving the coffee, sugar, and spoon. "So," she continued, to pass the time as she made their coffee, "do you think he'll put it up on his blog?"

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock asked.

"The kidnapping."

"Kidnapping?"

She glanced at him, grinning.

"I was wondering if you thought John might write about the kidnapping in his blog."

"Oh. Right. I wouldn't know." She eyed him, confused. "John's blog is…John's blog. Why?"

She shrugged.

"No reason, really. Just making conversation."

"Ah. Yes. Conversation."

He said the last word as if were the worst thing in the universe. He really didn't get out much, did he? Well, he reminded her of the Doctor and if there's one thing she knew how to do it was talk to him, so she tried another tactic.

"I know it won't be going in yours."

He caught her gaze as she handed his coffee over.

"Mine?"

"Yours, yeah. The Science of Deduction."

He raised his brow.

"You've been on my website?"

She had, in fact, visited his site on a few occasions. At first, because she was trying to gain insight into the type of person he was, back when everyone thought he was dead. Then because, well, he was a genius, and his entries reminded her of another genius. She smiled.

"I read through your posts, brilliant stuff. I have to say your Analysis of Perfumes is my favorite." He smiled, this one different from the others he'd given her since he showed up. "I wish you updated more often, but I know you've been busy."

"There is one I've been considering writing up." She grinned. "Has to do with fabric dye. It came up during one of my cases."

"I don't remember anything in John's blog about a case involving fabric dye."

"It was one I worked on while I was…away."

While he was dead, well, fake dead, but still.

"And you worked it out through the fabric dye?" she asked, taking his arm and leading him into the living room.

"No, the fabric dye was a side note. Something I noticed early on, but didn't actually come into play," he replied, allowing her to lead him to the sofa.

"But the fabric dye got you thinking about something else, yeah?"

She grinned.

"Precisely," he agreed, giving her a smile in return. "I can show you, if you like."

"That'd be brilliant."

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	25. The Game Is On

John stood next to Mary in front of the door to Rose's flat. She knocked as his hands were tied up with the bags of takeout. She gave him a conspiratorial grin right before the door was opened. The blonde woman he met that morning greeted them sporting a friendly grin.

"Hello," Rose said, gracing first Mary and then him with her smile. "I'm Rose. You must be Mary."

She offered Mary her hand, which his fiancé shook with her own smile.

"Hi, I've heard so much about you," Mary said.

"Good things I hope. Oh, John, sorry," she opened the door wider, "here we are chatting and you're standing there with all those bags. Come in, both of you."

"Thanks," John said, stepping into the room and stopped when he caught sight of Sherlock sitting on the sofa, devoid of his usual jacket which was lying over the back of the couch, completely surrounded by women's clothes, looking, well, baffled, as if he wasn't sure how he'd come to be there.

Sherlock's eyes snapped to first John and then Mary and back as he stood up, a deep purple skirt still in his hand.

"John, Mary," his friend greeted and then seemed to notice the skirt, gave it a confused glance and then tossed it on the sofa. "Hello."

John smirked. Sherlock shot him a glare. He glanced at Mary and noted her knowing smile. Yep, she could see it too.

"Sorry about the mess," Rose apologized, crossing the room and then picking up her garments. "He was explaining about fabric dye."

"Fabric dye?" John asked, crossing the room and setting the bags on the coffee table.

"Yes, John, fabric dye," Sherlock insisted, but he caught the way his friend kept glancing at Rose as if he wasn't entirely sure what happened.

"I'll just grab some plates and silverware," Rose said, crossing the room toward what John guessed was the kitchen after closing her bedroom door.

"I'll help you," Mary offered, giving John another one of those smiles that told him she was up to something. He grinned in return.

**-0-**

Rose led Mary into the kitchen. She'd only just met her, but she liked John's fiancé. She had a warm smile and seemed nice, which was exactly what she imagined.

"So," Mary said as Rose pulled a set of plates out of her cupboard. "Analysis of fabric dye?"

She caught Mary's raised brow and grinned.

"It's not as bad as it sounds and I like listening to him explain things," Rose replied, setting the plates on the counter and opening the silverware drawer.

"You don't think he's a bit of a show off?"

Rose pulled out the silverware and glanced at Mary, laughing.

"More than a bit I'd say, but…" she glanced at the entryway. "…I knew someone like him once." She smiled at the memory. "Genius, a bit…different, complete show off, loved being the center of attention." She glanced at Mary, remembering what they were doing. Kitchen, dishes, dinner.

She set the silverware on the plates and then pulled some wine glasses from her cupboard.

"What happened?" Mary asked. "Not that you have to tell me if you don't want to."

"No, 's all right," Rose said as she set the glasses on the table. "He…um…we didn't feel the same about each other or maybe we did and he just couldn't tell me." She glanced at one of the glasses. "He left me behind," she turned around, opening the refrigerator, "but its fine. I mean, I was fine, eventually." She opened the door and pulled out the wine, turning around and giving Mary her best smile. "But enough about me. I want to hear about you and John. Where'd you meet?"

**-0-**

John sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs as Mary followed Rose into the kitchen. Then he began pulling the takeout cartons from the bags and setting them on the coffee table. He glanced at Sherlock, who was sitting on the sofa again and noted the way his friend seemed to be deep in thought.

"So, Analysis of fabric dye?" he asked, after a few minutes.

"John," Sherlock said, sitting forward. "How does she do it?"

"Sorry?" he inquired, having no idea what his friend was referring to.

"I came over here with the intention of getting to the truth. Finding out who she really is and what she's planning."

John rolled his eyes. His friend was still stuck on that.

"Look, Sherlock-" he began, trying to get his friend so see reason.

"Somehow she managed to distract me to the point that I completely forgot why I came over here in the first place. Me! Forgetting!"

He grinned. If Sherlock wasn't so thick he'd know exactly why he forgot.

"Well, that sort of thing can happen," he said.

"Not to me, John, it doesn't happen to me," Sherlock insisted. "She's doing it on purpose to throw me off."

Why couldn't his friend see what was right in front of him? What, John could see, was completely obvious.

"She's doing it because she likes you," he said.

Sherlock scoffed.

"People don't like me. There has to be another reason."

"Another reason why she'd listen to you explain about fabric dye?"

"Exactly," his friend replied.

John was about to shoot off a reply when Mary and Rose returned with plates, silverware, glasses and a bottle of wine. He caught the smile his fiancé was sporting and the knowing glance she gave him as she crossed the room and sat the glasses on the coffee table, handing him the wine. He stood up to take it, reading the label. It was…

"That's a coincidence," John said.

"What is?" Mary asked.

"It's the same vintage Sherlock bought to toast our engagement."

"He brought it over," Rose said as she sat down next to the detective.

"You brought this over?" John asked, catching his friend's eye.

"Something wrong with that?" Sherlock asked.

"No, it's just…not what I'd expect."

"Why's that?"

"Because it's a…" he trailed off about to say _nice gesture, _but realized that wouldn't go over well.

Sherlock seemed to have guessed his line of thinking. His friend's eyes narrowed, something Rose also seemed to notice as she took Sherlock's arm. His friend glanced at her and she gave him a smile, the kind that could light up a room. Sherlock…well, froze would be the best way to put it.

"You never did tell me about that case," she said, still sporting that smile.

"Case?" his friend asked in complete confusion.

"The one that made you think about the dye. Was a murder? It was, wasn't it?"

"Case. Yes." Sherlock cleared his throat, but his entire focus remained on her. "Your right, it was murder."

"Come on, tell us," she coaxed, giving his arm a playful shake as her smile turned a bit cheeky. "I bet you were brilliant."

John grinned as Sherlock launched into the details. He caught Mary's gaze as he handed her a glass of wine and noticed the mischievous glint in her eyes. Oh, yes, the game was definitely on.

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	26. Meddling Fiancés

Mary picked up the rest of the dishes and followed Rose into the kitchen. The evening was wearing down and they hadn't gotten a chance to talk. She liked the other woman, not only as a person, but she could see how good Rose would be for Sherlock. The other woman definitely knew how to handle him, something she never thought anyone outside her and John would be able to do.

Rose was a good balance. She was clever and where Sherlock was rubbish at Human Nature, it seemed to come easily to the young woman. She could also tell that they cared for each other, but that neither one of them was going to make the first move. Good job they had her and John. She sat the dishes on the counter, catching Rose's ready smile and offering one in return.

"I can help you clean up, if you like," Mary offered.

"I appreciate that, but I think John's getting tired, if that last yawn was any indication," Rose replied.

"Ah, he's all right."

"Well, he has had a day and I know he's got his practice. You two go ahead, I can get this."

Mary waited while Rose ran the water to fill the sink. She glanced in the living room and could see Sherlock and John talking. When the sink was full she continued.

"John and I were having a get together on Friday, nothing fancy, just a few friends and I'd really like you to come, not just because you're so good with him," Mary said, gesturing in the other room.

"I'd like that," Rose replied with a grin.

"You must have had a lot of practice with your…friend."

"Two years, yeah. Well, one when he was like Sherlock and another after…" She trailed off as she sat the dishes in the sink.

"After he changed," Mary concluded.

Rose glanced at her and grinned.

"Yeah."

"Sherlock's better than he was, you know, and he really is a good sort, even if he won't admit it."

"Yeah, he is," Rose replied, glancing toward the other room. Then she shook her head as if to clear it. "It's just…complicated."

"Isn't everything worth having?"

Rose's eyes shot to hers.

"Sorry?"

"Sometimes complications are worth it and I'll tell you another thing. He's not going anywhere." Before Rose could reply she took the woman's hand. "Just…think about it." Then she gave Rose's hand a squeeze and walked into the living room to collect John.

She knew that Rose cared for Sherlock. She could see it in the way the woman behaved around him and the detective reciprocated her feelings, but she also knew there had been someone else. Someone who hurt Rose by leaving her behind and that made the young woman afraid. It made Rose want to protect herself by staying uninvolved, but Mary wasn't about to let her get away with that, not when she could see how good they'd be for each other.

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	27. When Plans Go Wrong

When Ms. Tyler stood up to gather the dishes Sherlock realized she had, once again, distracted him from his objective. He glanced at the time. Eight! How did she manage to distract him for two hours? _One lonely naive man desperate to show off and a woman clever enough to make him feel special. _Mycroft was right then and he was right now. John was wrong. Ms. Tyler was exactly like Ms. Adler.

"He's right," Sherlock said.

"Sorry?" John asked.

He glanced at his friend.

"Nothing," he dismissed. "You two will be going then?"

He wanted to get John and Mary out of there. Now that he knew what Ms. Tyler's game was he knew how to stay out of her trap. She might've ensnared him twice, but this time she would be the one falling into the trap.

"Um…well…" John glanced at the kitchen. "If I know Mary she's probably offering to help clean up."

That wouldn't do. That would keep them there longer and he needed to be alone with Ms. Tyler if he was going to pull off his plan.

"No, need. I'll stay and help Ms. Tyler clean up," Sherlock said.

John gave him a disbelieving look.

"You? You're going to clean?"

"Yes, John, I am capable of cleaning."

John eyed him.

"Do you even know how to clean?"

He picked up John's coat and helped his friend into it.

"I'm sure I've done it before, besides I've seen Mrs. Hudson do it, so it can't be too difficult."

John smirked.

"If you need an excuse I suppose cleaning is just as good as any," his friend said.

Wait. What?

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock asked, eyeing his friend.

"Ready, John?" Mary inquired, stepping into the room and interrupting them.

"Yep," John replied.

Sherlock retrieved Mary's coat and helped her into it, wanting to get them on their way as quickly as possible.

"It was nice seeing you again, Sherlock," Mary said, taking the detective's hands and giving him a smile.

"It's always a pleasure seeing you," he replied, returning her smile.

There were very few people he cared to be around and Mary was one of them, but she and John were more than that.

"I like her," she said.

"Sorry?" he asked, confused.

Liked who? And why would he care?

Mary nodded toward the kitchen, giving him a grin.

"I like her."

Wait. Rose? He glanced from Mary to the kitchen and back, stunned. She liked Rose?

"Why?" he asked.

First John and then Mary. He expected more from his friend's fiancé. She was clever and not dissuaded by the charms of another woman. She should've been able to see through Rose's disguise. It's one of the reasons he came over tonight.

"I just do," she replied with a shrug. _I just do. _That wasn't an answer. That told him nothing. Instead of elaborating she kissed his cheek and whispered two words. "Human nature."

"I'm sorry?" he asked, earning a quizzical look from John who hadn't heard his fiancé's whispered comment.

"Goodnight, Sherlock," she said as John opened the door and they stepped out.

_Human nature. _What the hell did she mean by that? The sound of water running drew his attention, reminding him that the evening wasn't over yet. There was still time to get the answers he sought.

He stepped into the kitchen. Her back was to him as she rinsed off the dishes and then set them in the drainer. He knew he had to be careful if he was going to win. Take the upper hand and not let it slip. Quickly, he calculated every available avenue and each possible outcome. Finally settling on surprise. That seemed his best avenue.

As she rinsed the last wine glass he took his opportunity, stepped close and dropped his voice an octave while using her first name, "Rose." She startled, as he expected, turning around and dropping the wine glass in one move. He caught the glass before it hit the floor and gazed directly into her eyes with a smile. "Don't want to drop that."

Her wide eyes were completely trained on him. Yes, this was his best avenue. He reached to her right, leaning close as he set the wine glass on the drying rack next to the others, always with his eyes locked on hers. Then he shifted, reaching behind her left to turn the facet off, leaning even closer. He heard her breath hitch and noted her pupils dilate.

He felt something stirring inside himself as well, but he ignored that, forcibly. It wouldn't do to succumb to his baser instincts. Though, if he allowed himself, he would have to admit that keeping himself reserved this close to her was proving quite difficult.

Instead of stepping back he stayed within her space keeping his eyes locked with hers. He allowed a sincere smile to grace his features as he reached over and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, earning more proof that she had fallen into his trap.

"You, Rose Tyler, are an enigma," he said, still keeping his voice lower than normal as his eyes moved back and forth between hers.

"Sorry?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

He brushed his thumb across her cheek, unprepared for the feelings that would arouse, but he pushed those feelings aside, keeping eye contact with her as he focused on his plan. He wanted answers and he would get them.

"I know I'm a difficult man," he began, intending on coaxing the information out of her, but at his words he noted the slight twitch at the corner of her lips that indicated a smile might form.

A smile would break the spell and he'd lose her. He couldn't let that happen. So, he took his plan one step further, bending down to kiss her cheek, an escalation of the intimate contact he was initiating, sure that this would keep his hand from slipping. Only, as he bent toward her she met him halfway, her lips brushing his scattering his plan like so much dust in the wind, as time itself seemed to stop.

Her arms wove around his neck as his encircled her waist. There was no suspicion, no second guessing. The calculating detective, the detached observer was replaced by a man. A man who could neither deny nor control the feelings that washed over him.

Her hand wove into his hair and every thought, rational or otherwise fled as his instincts kicked in, pulling her closer. He could feel the beat of her heart against his chest. In the background he heard a knock at the door, but he pushed the sound aside as he brought his hand to the back of her neck, tangling his fingers in her blonde mane. Another knock, louder, and she pulled back.

He found himself gazing into her hazel eyes. Dilated pupils that could only mean one thing, her feelings mirrored his own, but there was also a hint of confusion and…fear? Yes, that was there as well.

"Ium…" She shook her head. "I better get that."

She crossed the room and as soon as her back was to him his mental facilities crashed back into place with the force of an iron door. Wait. He stood there for a moment. _Did I just? Did we just? What the hell happened? _His plan had somehow gone…wrong wasn't even strong enough. There was a word, but for the first time in his life his mind felt off…muddled. He had to get out of there.

He wasn't even sure what happened, well, he knew what happened. Could recall it with vivid…he pushed the images aside. How had it happened? He knew that too, but his reflexes were impeccable. He should have caught her movements, should have stopped her before, but he hadn't. Why hadn't he?

He crossed the room and stepped into the living room as John entered her flat. John? What was he doing there? His friend glanced at him and then paused. John glanced back at Rose…no, Ms. Tyler then back to him and smirked.

"Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt-" John began.

"You weren't interrupting," Sherlock insisted, more quickly than he intended.

Ro…Ms. Tyler shook her head.

"Nothing at all," she agreed.

Wait. Nothing? Why was she saying that? He wouldn't call what happened between them in the kitchen…What the hell was he thinking? He had to get out of there.

John picked up Mary's pocketbook, she must have left it behind. Strange. She wasn't the forgetful type, but then he had ushered them out the door. John was there and that's all that mattered. If his friend hadn't shown up…He glanced at Rose…Ms. Tyler. _Why do I keep doing that? _Things might have…no, best not even think about that.

He followed John to the door.

"Goodnight," Rose said as he stepped out.

He paused, turning to her, knowing he should say something, but wanting to keep his distance.

"It was a lovely evening," he replied.

Wait. What if she thought that he meant…She smiled. Wait. Why was she smiling? Did she think he meant…She closed the door. He stood there for a moment, trying to work out why she said _Nothing happened _and then smiled. What the hell did that mean?

"Coming?" John asked, drawing his attention away from her closed door.

He turned around and followed his friend up the stairs. When they reached the staircase that led to his flat he paused.

"Everything all right?" John asked, a bit worried.

"She…kissed me," he replied, absentmindedly.

"Good on you," his friend said, sounding pleased.

Only, Sherlock was anything, but pleased. Confused, yes. Suspicious, definitely.

"Why would she do that?"

John laughed.

"Aren't you a little old for the talk, Sherlock?"

He caught his friend's amused gaze and rolled his eyes.

"I know about biology, John."

"Sounds like you might have deleted a few things."

"Very amusing," he retorted as he began climbing the stairs.

"Sherlock," John called. "If you want to talk I could stay-"

"No. I don't want to talk."

He could feel his friend's eyes on him for another moment and then he heard the unmistakable sound of the door opening. He reached his flat and stepped inside, closing the door. That's when he realized he left his jacket in her flat, well, he wasn't about to retrieve it. Not tonight. Tonight he needed to keep as much distance between himself and Ro..Ms…_that woman _as he could.

* * *

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Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	28. Haunted

Rose sighed. Her hand still on the door handle. This was bad. Really bad. She turned around and leaned her back against the wood, sliding down the sit on the floor. Sherlock was a complication she couldn't afford. Not after building a life for herself. Something she'd been forced to do three times. First when she was ripped away from the Doctor. Then when he left her on that godforsaken beach. Then when she found herself stuck in this universe. She couldn't do that again.

_Some complications are worth it, _but Mary had no idea who Rose Tyler really was and what she was hiding. An impossible past. Getting involved with someone was risky, but getting involved with Sherlock Holmes could destroy the life she built. _He's a good sort _and she knew that. She could see it in his eyes. She could also see the weight he carried, not as much as the Doctor carried, but the same sort of weight nonetheless.

Only, he wasn't the Doctor. Sherlock's life was built on facts, facts that could be proven. She couldn't prove that she was from a parallel universe. Couldn't prove that she'd fallen in love with a nine hundred year old alien after traveling with him for two years in a blue police box called the TARDIS that was bigger on the inside and traveled in time and space. If she told him one of two things would happen. He'd believe her, highly unlikely, or he'd think she was mad. If he thought her mad he could easily tear apart the life she'd built.

She should have expected she would fall for him. After spending months trying to find out what really happened when he jumped off that building he'd gotten inside her head and the fact that he was a genius, like the Doctor made it easier. Then when she met him, well, he was more than a bit attractive. When she looked in his eyes she was gone. She knew it.

What she didn't expect was for him to reciprocate her feelings. Though, now, she wondered if he actually did. He seemed a bit off after John showed up, not that she wasn't too, but he was more distanced. She went back over the events that led up to their kiss. _You are an enigma, Rose Tyler. _Oh god! She slammed her head against the back of the door. _I'm a bloody idiot! _He'd been charming her. The same way Jack charmed her when they first met, when he thought she was a Time Agent and he might talk her into buying a ship he _acquired._

Sherlock wanted answers. Wanted to know who she was and that had been his way of getting her to talk. But…he kissed her and he enjoyed it. Or, at least, he seemed to. She pushed the thought aside. It didn't matter. He was trying to use her and she wasn't about to let him get away with that.

**-0-**

Sherlock lay in his bed unable to sleep as his mind replayed the events of the evening, trying to work out how he'd lost the upper hand. She must have known what he was attempting, but he couldn't point out the moment the tables turned. She kissed him. It was the only reason she'd do something like that. _She cares for you._

"Shut up, John," he snapped.

_And you care for her._

"I do not!"

He rolled over on his side, folding his arms. He didn't care for Ro…_that woman_. He didn't do that sort of thing. _It's as plain as the nose on your face._

"Go away, Mycroft!" he yelled grabbing a pillow and pulling it over his head. "I won't make that mistake again."

_You kissed her. _

"She kissed me, John."

_You kissed her back. _

"Shut up!" he shouted, sitting up. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

He gazed around the empty room, remembering that he was alone. Neither John nor Mycroft were actually there. He threw himself back down on the bed, pulling the pillow back over his head. He forced his eyes closed and was greeted by Rose giving him that cheeky grin. He sat up quickly, getting out of bed. Coffee that's what he needed.

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**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	29. Getting Even

Sherlock opened his eyes and found himself gazing into the hazel eyes of the woman who had haunted his dreams after he finally fell asleep last night…or had that been this morning? She was haunting him even now.

"Get out of my head," he snapped, more than irritated that he couldn't dislodge her from his thoughts.

She laughed, but not the one he was accustomed to. This one stirred more basic instincts.

"In your head am I?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow. Wait. What? His mind blanked as his eyes locked on hers.

"If I was in your head could I do this?" she asked, as she reached out and poked his chest with her index finger.

Her touch brought back enough of his senses to realize that not only was she in his bed, not a figment, the woman herself, but he wasn't dressed. He sat up abruptly and scooted away from her and in the next moment he was on the floor, grateful that he'd had the sense of mind to grab the sheet. The only thing that was concealing him at the moment. Her head appeared above him as she leaned over the side of the bed, grinning.

"Mrs. Hudson brought tea, but you look like you could use something stronger. I could make coffee, if you like," she said.

"Why are you in my bed?" he insisted, trying to stand up while keeping the sheet in place.

She scooted to the side nearest him and stood up, invading his space. He took a step back and bumped into the bookshelf.

"Now I'm not. Happy?" she asked, smiling.

"Why were you there in the first place?" he asked, his mind unable to grasp another question with her that close.

"It wasn't my first choice. I called your name three times, but you were out."

"And climbing in my bed was your next choice?"

"Well," she said, invading his space again by stepping closer only he was backed against the bookshelf and there wasn't anywhere for him to go. "I suppose I could've used an air horn, but I didn't want to upset Mrs. Hudson."

"Next time use the air horn," he snapped, pulling his sheet closer, absentmindedly.

"So, which do you want?" she asked, leaning close. His ability to form any thought fled. His entire being was focused on her. After a moment she quirked an eyebrow and smiled. The tip of her tongue poking out between her teeth. He felt his breath catch and if he hadn't seen it for himself he would've never believed a smile could turn wicked. "Tea or coffee?" she continued and in the next moment she raised her hand, placing it on his chest.

It was enough of a shock to jar his mind back into place. He stepped to his right, trying, in vain, to ignore the fact that he was physically brushing past her.

"Coffee," he managed, his voice coming out coarse.

"Coffee it is," she replied, giving him a smile that was neither wicked nor cheeky as she walked around the bed and out the door.

He crossed the room and closed the door. She was up to something, but what? Why would she climb into his bed? Wait. How long had she been there? If she knew Mrs. Hudson brought him tea she must have been there for a few hours. What was she doing that whole time?

He hurriedly dressed, hoping that making coffee would take her long enough to keep her out of his room. He hadn't known her very long, but he knew enough to realize this wasn't her normal behavior. Her previous distractions were minor compared to this. She had a reason, but what could it be?

**-0-**

Rose couldn't stop grinning as she filled the kettle and put it on. When she realized that his advances last night hadn't been advances, but his attempt to get her to reveal her secrets she knew she couldn't let him get away with it. She decided to get him back the same way he got her. Only, she wasn't sure if it would work, but now she knew.

For all his talk about being above that sort of thing in the end he was a man. She knew she was playing a dangerous game, but sometimes men, especially geniuses needed to be put in their place. Brought down a peg.

She heard the door to his room open, but she kept her back to him.

"I've changed my mind. I'll have tea," he replied, crossing the room.

She grinned. She expected that. He'd been thrown off his game, more than thrown off and he didn't like it, which meant he'd be in a mood and that was fine. She planned on keeping him this way for a while. At least until he learned his lesson and he was a stubborn one.

She made herself a cup. Not that she really wanted it, but she'd already started. Then she picked it up and headed into the living room. He was sitting in his chair and she could tell he was trying to work out what was going on. Well, she couldn't have that. She crossed the room and instead of sitting in the other chair she planted herself on the arm of his. He gave her a startled look and she returned it with a grin.

"There is another chair, not to mention a sofa," Sherlock snapped.

She reached over, smoothing the side of his shirt, which brought his eyes to hers.

"Blue's a good color on you," she said, purposely ignoring his attempt to get her to move. She leaned close, gazing into his eyes and he stopped moving, as he'd done in his room. "It brings out the blue in your eyes."

She leaned back and he shifted, looking completely out of sorts, which made her smile, the cheeky one and he turned his attention to the tea Mrs. Hudson brought up. He took a drink and then seemed to pull himself together.

He glanced at her.

"Don't you have a case? Or an assignment from Mycroft?" he asked.

"Nope. I've got the whole day," she replied. "I thought we could spend it together."

He took a drink and almost choked. She laughed.

"Together?" he finally managed after setting his cup down.

"After last night I thought…" she trailed off, giving him the pleading look she used to give the Doctor when she wanted to do something he didn't.

He stared at her as if he'd never seen anything like it and she had to keep herself from laughing, which was incredibly difficult.

"You…um…" he cleared his throat, averting his gaze. "I…um…realize that what I said might have been misconstrued. When I said that I had a lovely evening I wasn't suggesting that-"

"But you kissed me," she interrupted, pulling out as much indignation as she could.

"No, you kissed me," he argued.

"No, I clearly remember you leaning down," at this she leaned very close to him making his eyes widen. "I might've leaned up, but you started it." She paused, her face mere inches from his. "So, you can see," she continued, sitting back. "You kissed me."

"Yes, I…" he swallowed. "…can see how you could believe that, but that was never my intention."

He looked so completely flustered that she couldn't stop herself from laughing. His eyes shot to hers, which only proved to make her laugh harder. He drew his brows together.

"What?" he snapped.

"How do you like it?" she finally managed after a minute.

"I'm sorry?"

"Good, apologizing, that's a start at least," she snapping, getting to her feet.

"Apologizing?" he asked, standing up to face her, equally angry. "Why would I need to apologize?"

"For using me like that."

"Using you? What are you referring to?"

"Last night."

"Sorry?"

"Last night when you decided to charm your way into getting me to answer your stupid questions." She hadn't realized how angry she was until that moment. "Did you even once think how that would make me feel? No, of course not because you're Sherlock Holmes and your above all that caring and feeling nonsense."

"If you would've simply told me why you've invaded my life I wouldn't have had to resort to such tactics," he yelled.

"Invaded your life?" She almost laughed. "How big is your head?"

"What did you say?"

"You heard me you bloody idiot! You think my being here has anything to do with you?"

"You're here for some reason and I'll have what it is."

"You want to know why I'm here?" she shouted.

"Yes."

"You really want to know?"

She knew he was going to find out one way or the other and at that moment she didn't care. It was too much work keeping her secrets from him. Anyone else, easy, but one consulting detective, human consulting detective, and she couldn't keep up the charade.

"Yes," he insisted.

"I'm here because I fell in love."

"What?"

"I fell in love with another idiot genius. One who could change his face. I traveled with him for two years through all of time and space, but then we were ripped apart and I was stuck in a parallel universe. I spent two years trying to get back to him because I loved him and I thought he loved me, but when I finally found him he dumped me back in that other universe with someone else because he wanted me to look after him, which I did until the day he died. After that I couldn't stay there, everything reminded me of him so I found a way out, but instead of taking me back to where I was from I wound up stuck here. No aliens, no TARDIS, no Torchwood, no way forward, no way back. Everyone I cared about in two different universes. My mum, my dad, my little brother, the Doctor, Jack, Mickey, they're gone, but I managed because that's what I do. I soldier on. It's what I've done since the day I lost him."

"You expect me to believe all that?"

"No, Sherlock, I don't and I don't really care. I'm too tired to keep playing your stupid games. I've already lost two men that I loved. One died and the other left, but this time I'm doing the leaving. So, destroy my life if you want. I've got my sonic, I'll be fine. I'm always fine," she snapped, ignoring the tears that slid down her cheeks.

Then she crossed the room and stepped out the door before he could say anything else. He didn't believe her and even though she expected it she couldn't help the heavy weight that settled in her chest. It wasn't just losing the life she built. It was losing someone else she cared about.

* * *

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Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	30. The Truth About Roses

Sherlock stared at the closed door after Ms. Tyler's overly dramatic exit. From the moment he met her he knew she was hiding something and he was right, but she hadn't been hiding a conspiracy that would endanger him, his friends, Mycroft, or all of London. She'd been hiding her delusional beliefs. Aliens, police boxes that traveled in time and space. It was ludicrous. She was completely mental.

He sat down in his chair leaving his tea untouched as his mind sorted through everything she said, but not only that, all of their interactions since they met. His first hint that she was hiding something had been during the first cab ride they shared.

_"__I had a normal job once, a long time ago." He glanced at her. "It seems like a lifetime ago." She gave him a smile. "Worked in a shop. Same thing every day. Get up, go to work, get home, eat dinner, go to bed. I hated it."_

_"__Most people seem content with it," he replied._

_"__And they can have it." She glanced up at the night sky as the cab rumbled down the road. "There's so much more out there. I could never go back to that." She sighed and he could hear the weight of her words, as if she'd lost something she never thought she'd get back. "Even now, even stuck…" she glanced at him with the look of someone who revealed more than they intended._

_"__Stuck? Stuck where? Here?" he asked._

_"__Never mind me. I'm just tired. Long day and all."_

She must have been referring to her belief that she was from a parallel universe, which was impossible. There were, of course, theories about such things, but no actual scientific evidence that they existed, but she would have him believe that not only did they exist that she was, in fact, from one. That she had somehow found a way to cross from one universe to another.

_"__Don't look so surprised. I know a thing or two about working out puzzles, been doing it for years."_

No, it couldn't be true. The very idea was ridiculous. His phone chimed, interrupting his thoughts. He pulled it out, irritated, and read the caller ID. Mycroft. What the hell did he want?

"What do you want?" he snapped, answering it.

"Sherlock, what have you done?" Mycroft insisted.

"I haven't done anything."

"Oh, really? I've just gotten off the phone with Ms. Tyler who informed me that's she's leaving town. I told you to stay away from her, but you couldn't listen could you?"

So, she was leaving town? The thought made him feel…what? Sad? He shoved the feeling aside. She was just a woman, a delusional woman.

"Why do you think I had anything to do with her decision to move?"

"Taking into account all the time you've spent together and the fact that beyond John and Mary you're the only other person who's been to her flat I simply put two and two together."

"Well, you're wrong," he snapped.

"Am I? Then why, pray tell, did she go on about not getting involved and some sentimental nonsense about…" He could almost hear his brother shiver. "…love." Love? Why would she talk to Mycroft about love? "The last time you got involved with a woman you nearly bankrupted the country and this time, not even money can repair the damage losing her would do."

He rolled his eyes. He wasn't involved with Ms. Tyler. Mycroft was overreacting once again. She was simply a woman. Clever, yes. Capable, yes. Beautiful…he forced the thought aside.

"You're better off, Mycroft. She's delusional. She thinks she's from a parallel world."

"Sherlock, I don't care if she believes herself to be the bloody Queen of Mars. You will fix this."

Wait. What? Sherlock sat up. There was something else going on. Mycroft wouldn't be this insistent if all Ms. Tyler did for him was go out on a few assignments. Sherlock was back, no longer pretending to be dead. If it were merely assignments Mycroft would talk him into taking them.

"What does she do for you, Mycroft?"

"That's really none of your concern."

He wasn't going to let his brother get away without answering. Not this time.

"Since I seem to be the only one who can _fix this _as you put it I'd say you have no other choice. Tell me who she is."

Mycroft paused for a moment.

"She's no one," his brother said.

That wasn't an answer.

"Mycroft, my patience is wearing thin."

"She is literally no one." Literally no one? What the hell did that mean? "Rose Tyler doesn't exist, or didn't until I gave her a past."

Wait. What was Mycroft saying? Did she have a different name or was she really…no she couldn't be.

"Why would you do that?" he asked.

"I helped her create her identity and in exchange she supplies me with information," his brother replied.

Information? What did that mean?

"What sort of information?"

"Small advances in technology, medical science, molecular engineering, that sort of thing." Wait. What? "She has an aversion to weaponry so she won't help us out there, but with the knowledge we've gained we've advanced ten years in the last seven months."

"Where does she get her information?"

"If I knew that I wouldn't need her, now would I?" Mycroft asked. "As far as I can tell the information is coming directly from her."

That was his brother's reason behind putting her at Baker Street. He was keeping an eye on her for two reasons. To make sure she didn't sell her information to someone else and to find out where she was acquiring it.

"And how much do you pay her for this information?"

"I keep her secret, protect her identity and in exchange she gives me small bits of information. She knows far more than she's revealed, but she won't allow me to pay her for more than she's willing to give. Went on about some nonsense about too much future knowledge, whatever that means."

"I see," was all Sherlock could manage as the pieces began falling into place.

The finished puzzle emerged. An impossible puzzle, but one he could neither set aside nor deny. She wasn't simply a woman. She was woman who had once traveled all of time and space in a blue police box called the TARDIS. She'd been trapped in a parallel universe, left behind by a man, who wasn't merely a man, she loved. She had watched another man she loved die and in her need to escape she found herself trapped in another parallel universe. She built a life for herself with Mycroft's help. She didn't weave herself into Sherlock's life, Mycroft had done that to keep an eye on her.

When she met Sherlock she didn't treat him like a freak or a machine, as was the case with most people. She treated him like a person, no, like a friend not because she had some hidden agenda. She treated him that way because that's who she was. His polar opposite. Sentimental, kind, caring, open. Yes, she kept things from him, but only to protect herself and she never lied. Not once. He went back then, over the events of the last few days and he could see it. See what John saw.

"You will fix this, Sherlock," Mycroft insisted.

"What have I done?" he whispered, hanging up on his brother and sliding his phone back into his pocket as he stood up as one sentence ran through his mind on a loop.

_"__I fell in love with another idiot genius."_

He was halfway to the door when it opened. Rose stepped inside, breathless, cheeks flushed. He didn't care why she was rushing into his flat only that she was there, but the words she uttered stopped him in his tracks.

"Someone has John and Mary. He says he's going to kill them."

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**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	31. A New Enemy

Before Sherlock could question Rose as to who took John and Mary she handed her mobile over. He glanced at it and realized there was someone on the other end.

"Hello?" he asked, raising the phone to his ear.

"So glad we could finally chat," a man replied.

Mid-forties. Rough voice. The man's accent suggested a posh upbringing, but that could be faked depending on the speaker's intelligence level.

"Why have you taken them?"

"Everything in due course, Sherlock. You don't mind if I call you Sherlock, do you? We haven't actually met, but I know so much about you I almost feel as if we're…well, friends isn't really the right word is it? Arch enemies. Now that does have a better ring to it."

"Who are you?"

"How about you call me…Mr. Cole."

"Who told you about me?"

"My mentor told me everything about you."

"And who is your mentor?"

"Was. He died. The same day you died. Only you managed to come back. Very clever."

"Moriarty."

"Excellent deduction, but then I expected that."

"Then this is about revenge."

"Another excellent deduction, but it's about more than that."

"What else?"

"Information." Sherlock's eyes snapped to Rose. "Ms. Tyler has been supplying your brother with information."

"And you want the information she possesses."

Rose raised her brow.

"I want the device."

"What device?"

"The device she stores the information on. I know there's a device. Ms. Tyler might be clever, but she's no genius. To have that much knowledge about so many different areas she'd have to be a genius or have a device containing the information."

"If you wanted her device then why threaten my friends? Rose hardly knows them."

"But she knows you."

"Barely."

Which wasn't entirely true, but the last thing Sherlock wanted to do was add her to Mr. Cole's list of targets.

"Oh, come, Sherlock. I've seen the two of you together." The man already knew or suspected. "She'll give you the device. All you have to do is ask and if she says no, well, you could always take it. The clock is ticking, Sherlock. Meet me at the pool, you know the one, in say…twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes?" Sherlock asked.

That wasn't enough time, especially if Rose argued the matter, which, given the way he botched matters between them was highly likely.

"Tick tock, got to dash."

Mr. Cole hung up.

"What does he want?" Rose asked as he handed her mobile back.

"Your device. The one that contains the information you've been giving Mycroft. He's given me twenty minutes to bring it to him otherwise…" he trailed off, remembering the last time he'd been to that pool. The only reason he and John had made it out of there alive was because someone rang Moriarty.

If Moriarty was Mr. Cole's mentor then, most likely, the setup would be the similar.

"Come on then," she said, opening the door.

Wait. Where was she going?

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Twenty minutes isn't much time. How long will it take to get there?"

"Fifteen minutes by cab if the traffic's bad," he replied, following behind her as she hurried out the door and down the stairs.

"Everything's on my other mobile."

She rushed down to her flat and through the door.

"Other mobile?" he asked, following her into her room.

She reached between her mattresses and pulled out another phone, but one that was distinctly different, at least to him. A bit more advanced.

"I had it with me when I used the dimension cannon after I did a bit of, as the Doctor would say, jiggery pokery too it." He had no idea what she was talking about, but she didn't pause to elaborate as they started back through the living room. "I worked for this company called Torchwood, kept a lot of information on my phone because I spent most of my time in the field."

"And that's where you've been getting the information to give to Mycroft."

He opened the door and they stepped outside.

"Exactly, but I had to be careful what I gave him. Too much too soon and future history will be rewritten."

What? Future history? That didn't make any sense.

"How can you rewrite history that hasn't happened yet?" he asked.

"How can you die in the past? I almost did. Time isn't a straight line," she stuck out her hand to hail a cab, "it can bend and twist. One wrong word and everything changes. People who are supposed to be born aren't, everything they're supposed to do vanishes."

"That's why you wouldn't sell Mycroft the information," he deduced.

She grinned as he opened the door.

"Information should be shared, not sold, but, yeah, that was my excuse."

She slid into the cab and he followed, giving the driver their destination.

"So some of the information on your phone-" he began.

"Could change everything," she finished.

"And you're willing to trade it for John and Mary?"

"Of course."

She said it as if that was the only option, when there was another option. She could've told him no, even gone so far as to destroy her phone, but that didn't even cross her mind. How could she be this? His rational mind argued that no one, no one was this selfless, but there she was. Sitting next to him in a cab on their way to trade dangerous information for the lives of his friends. No hesitation. No questions. It was irrefutable evidence that couldn't be argued. Of course, she could always change her mind and then, as if she heard his thoughts, she handed her mobile over.

"Why?" he asked glancing from the phone to her.

"He wanted to talk to you. So, you're the one he wants to deal with. I just had something he wanted," she explained.

He caught her gaze.

"I…" There were so many things he wanted to say. That he never thought he'd feel for another person what he felt for her. That he never imagined anyone, least of all someone like her, would ever care for him. That she was the most brilliant, beautiful, kind woman he had ever met and he felt lucky just to be in her presence. She quirked her eyebrow and he realized he hadn't actually spoken any of his thoughts. "Thank you," he said.

She smiled.

"You don't have to thank me."

He knew that there was every chance he might not make it out of this and he wanted her to know that he believed her.

"Maybe not, but I do owe you an apology," he said.

"Sorry?" she asked, as if she wasn't sure what he was talking about.

"Not only for forcing you to tell me what you were hiding, but for not believing you."

A hint of fear and something else…hope? Crossed her eyes.

"But you believe me now?" she asked.

"Yes." That one word banished the fear from her eyes. She grinned and he smiled in return. "It sounds impossible, but I know it's the truth."

At that moment they arrived at the pool and their conversation ceased.

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Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	32. The Trap

Sherlock stood outside the doors that led to the pool, glaring daggers at Rose who glared right back. Her lips set in a defiant line. He'd never been so furious with anyone that he hadn't wanted to shoot in his entire life.

"No," he insisted. "It's far too dangerous."

"I'm not letting you go in there on your own," she snapped.

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"So am I."

He growled in frustration, wanting to strangle something. As soon as they got out of the cab he told her his plan. He'd go in and make the exchange, which began their argument.

"Only one of us needs to go in," he said.

"I've read John's blog. I know what happened last time you were here. The pair of you barely made it out of there alive."

"All the more reason for you to remain here."

"No, that's more of a reason for me to come with you," she insisted. "There isn't time for this, Sherlock."

She was right. He glanced at the time. Less than sixty seconds. She wasn't giving him a choice, something he was not at all happy about and if they made it out of this he was going to make damn sure she knew.

"Fine, but stay behind me," he snapped, opening the door and heading inside with Rose following.

It wasn't a request and if she didn't listen he would physically pull her back, if he had to. He glanced back and she seemed to catch his meaning. Good.

He took a few steps inside and stopped. John and Mary were standing halfway across the room, not wired as John had been before, but red lasers graced their foreheads. Both were upset, Mary more than John. Anger coursed through him, but he kept it at bay. Emotions made people clumsy and he couldn't have that.

He heard Rose gasp and he put his arm out to stop her from trying to help them. It's something she would do, most likely her first instinct. He held up the device, gazing around the pool.

"I've brought the device. Come out if you want it," Sherlock called.

"I was beginning to worry you wouldn't make it," Mr. Cole answered.

A man stepped out of the alcove just behind his friends. Mr. Cole. He wore a black suit, coal black. Mid-forties, as Sherlock deduced from their phone conversation. Short, dark hair, glasses, a bit of extra weight around the middle. Posh upbringing, his accent was sincere.

"You wouldn't believe the traffic."

The man glanced from Sherlock to Rose.

"Ms. Tyler. I've heard so much about you. It is a pleasure," Mr. Cole said, giving her a smile.

"I can't say the same," she replied.

Sherlock couldn't help smiling at that.

"Well, now that we're all here the game can begin," Mr. Cole said.

"Game? What game?" Sherlock asked.

"You said you wanted the device," Rose replied. "That's the device. All the information's on it."

"You're right, of course," Mr. Cole said, stepping close to Sherlock and taking her mobile. He turned it on and tapped the screen, glancing over the information stored inside. "Very good. This will come in quite handy."

The man motioned to the snipers stationed somewhere above and out of sight. Then Mr. Cole glanced at John. "You're both free to go."

John and Mary hurried over toward Sherlock and Rose. John paused next to the detective, but Sherlock motioned toward the door.

"Get Mary out of here. We'll be fine."

He could tell his friend wanted to argue, but John also wanted to keep Mary safe. After a moment the doctor led his fiancé out the door. As soon as the door closed Sherlock heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked. He turned around. Mr. Cole had pulled out a handgun and was pointing it at…Rose.

"What are you doing?" he demanded as panic, for the first time, seized control of his mind.

"I also said I wanted revenge or did you forget that part?" the man inquired.

"Revenge?" Rose asked.

"For Moriarty."

"Moriarty killed himself," Sherlock insisted.

"Yes, but his dying wish was to destroy you." Mr. Cole replied.

"And he did. He destroyed my reputation."

"But now you've gotten it back. You've been vindicated, but I know what Moriarty would do if he lived to see this day."

"What day? What the hell are you talking about?"

"The day the great Sherlock Holmes fell in love."

He could feel Rose's eyes on him, but he kept his gaze locked on Mr. Cole and as soon as the man glanced at Rose, Sherlock pulled the gun from his waistband and pointed it at the other man.

"Don't," the detective warned.

Mr. Cole smiled.

"Or what? You'll shoot me? Well, then, go ahead Sherlock. You shoot me. I shoot her. On the count of three, shall we?"

Mr. Cole met to kill her. This whole plan had been a ploy to bring them there. He asked for the device, not so he could have it, but because that would ensure she came along.

"You're insane!" Sherlock shouted.

"One," Mr. Cole counted.

There had to be a way out of this.

"Stop!"

"Two."

Sherlock fired. The bullet struck Mr. Cole and at that moment the man fired his own shot.

"Bad form, Sherlock," Mr. Cole said as he slumped to the ground.

Another sound drew Sherlock's attention. A gasp. Very slight, but it was enough to turn his head and what he saw sent fear coursing through his entire body. Rose was lying on the floor and there was blood.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	33. Her Last Minutes

"Rose!" Sherlock shouted as he raced to her side.

He bent down next to her, fighting the panic that filled his mind, trying to force it aside. A blood stain grew toward the bottom of her pink t-shirt. He lifted her shirt and saw the wound in her abdomen. There was a good chance from its location that the bullet hadn't struck any vital organs, but without medical attention she would still bleed out.

"Did you get him?" she asked, her voice sounding weak, which sent a new wave of panic through him.

"He won't be troubling us again," he replied, reaching for his scarf and then remembering that he hadn't taken the time to grab his coat or scarf before they left. He pulled his jacket off, hurriedly and folded it. "This is going to hurt. I'm…sorry."

He pressed his jacket down on her wound to stop the bleeding. Then with his other hand he typed in their location and two words _Ambulance Now _then he sent the message to Lestrade. Next was John and the words _Help Me. _

"Looks like you were right," she said, drawing his attention.

He sat his phone down and gazed into her hazel eyes.

"About?" he asked.

"I should have stayed outside."

She started to laugh, but it ended in a cough. She didn't have a lot of time. It usually took twenty minutes to bleed out from a stomach wound, but she was fading fast. What if the ambulance didn't get there in time? What if she…He felt her hand take his, drawing his eyes back to hers.

At that moment the door burst open and John rushed inside. His friend took one look at them and hurried over. Sherlock stepped aside, allowing the doctor to take over. John pulled back the jacket.

"Oh, God." He looked at Rose, examining first one eye and then the other. "Um, okay, have you phoned an ambulance?"

"I sent Lestrade a text and told him to send one."

"Call him and see how long it's got."

"John, is she-"

"Now!"

The worry in his friend's voice sent him into action. He grabbed his phone from the floor and took a few steps away as he called Lestrade. It rang once before the inspector picked up.

"Sherlock? What's going on?" Lestrade demanded.

"How long's the ambulance got?" Sherlock asked.

"Maybe fifteen minutes. Traffic's backed up, but I'm pushing it through."

"Fifteen minutes? Push it through faster!"

"I'm trying my best."

"Your best isn't good enough!" he yelled, knowing he was panicking, but unable to stop himself.

"Sherlock? What's this about?"

"It's Rose. She's been shot."

"Rose? What the hell happened?"

"Sherlock," John called, drawing his full attention.

"Just get here!" he yelled, hanging up and pocketing his phone as he hurried over to them.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he asked, noting the resigned look in John's eyes.

"I've done all I can," his friend said.

Wait. What the hell did he mean by that? Done all he can?

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," John caught his gaze and sighed. "I'm saying if there's anything you need to tell her then…tell her now."

An entire wave of emotions surged over him. Fear, panic, disbelief, anger, sorrow, pain.

"No, No!" he yelled. "Do something!"

Didn't John understand? Didn't he see how important she was? She couldn't die, not like this, not here, not now!

"There isn't anything I can do."

"You're a doctor, for god's sake!" he screamed.

"The bullet punctured her liver, Sherlock. Maybe if I had a scalpel and some sutures, but not like this," John replied, a pained look in his eyes, but at that moment Sherlock didn't care how his friend felt. The woman he loved was dying and John was telling him there wasn't any way to stop it.

"No," Sherlock whispered his strength draining from his body. "Please, John."

His friend stood up and walked toward him and in the next moment his friend pulled him into a hug. "I'm sorry, Sherlock." Then he pulled back and caught the detective's eye. "Stay with her. She hasn't got much time."

"I…I can't."

"Sherlock, for once let this be about someone else. She's dying, tell her how you feel."

He looked at Rose, lying on the floor. The woman he loved. The woman who had shown him kindness even when he was at his worst. He swallowed, glancing at his friend. John was right. He had to do this for her. He crossed the room and knelt down beside her, taking her hand and reaching out to tuck a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She opened her eyes and smiled.

"Hello," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He returned her smile.

"Hello," he replied.

"Where'd you go?"

"Oh, just, to make a call."

"Priorities," she joked, almost laughing, but she didn't seem to have the strength.

"Sherlock," John warned, reminding him that there wasn't much time.

"There's um," Sherlock began, but paused to swallow back the tears that threatened to come. "Something I need to tell you." He caught her gaze and smiled. "I find this sort of thing…difficult. I don't wear my feelings on my sleeve the way you do. I keep them tucked away, as far away as I possibly can, but you drew them out. You are the most compassionate, kind, selfless person I've ever had the good fortune to meet. From the moment you laid eyes on me you treated me like a friend and I returned your friendship with suspicion and accusations and for that I am truly sorry. I did so because…because I could not believe that someone like you could care about someone like me." He felt the tears and he knew he couldn't stop them. "I am not a loveable man and so I…I never once expected anyone to treat me the way you have and I certainly never expected to fall…" His voice broke, but he had to continue so he took a breath. "I never expected to fall in love."

Tears filled her eyes, but before she could respond John started laughing. Wait. What? He glared at his friend. How the hell could he laugh at a time like this? Wait. He looked at Rose.

"He put me up to it," she said, her voice no longer weak.

He glanced at her shirt and realized his jacket wasn't there. He lifted it to reveal…no wound.

"How?" he asked.

There was a wound. He'd seen it.

"Setting seven on my sonic. Tissue repair."

John's laughter assailed him and he stood up to face his friend.

"You bastard!" he yelled. "You used her sonic to save her and you let me think she was dying! How could you?"

"You were so sweet. You said such nice things to her."

"I'm going to bloody kill you, you bastard!" Sherlock yelled launching himself at John.

They both went down, but his friend was still laughing.

"You love her," John said.

"Shut up, John!"

His friend struggled, but he was determined to get in at least one good punch. How the hell could John do that to him? In the next moment he was struck by cold water.

"Now," Rose said, standing over them. "If you two are done, Lestrade's just got here."

Sherlock glanced at the door as the inspector walked toward them.

"I thought you said Rose was shot?" Lestrade asked.

"No, but this bloke was," she said, leading the inspector toward Mr. Cole's body.

Sherlock stood up, shooting John a glare before following her. If it was the last thing he did he'd pay his friend back for that.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	34. Endings

Sherlock joined John outside the pool as Rose wrapped things up with Lestrade. He glanced at his friend, still not at all pleased with him.

"Why?" he asked, wanting to know exactly why John would do that to him.

"Oh, I don't know," John replied, turning to him. "Massive bomb, subway, ringing any bells?"

"You wanted to get back at me?"

"You made me think I was going to die. That I'd never see Mary again. Yeah, Sherlock, I saw an opportunity to get back at you and I took it. Sue me."

"I can't believe you did that," he replied, but he couldn't help the grin that appeared.

"Now, we're even," John said, also grinning and in the next moment they both laughed.

"Everything's back to normal then?" Rose asked, joining them.

"As normal as we get," John replied. "Well, I better be off. Mary's waiting back home." His friend turned to Rose. "I'm glad you're all right."

"That makes two of us," she said, giving him a grin that he returned before heading down the street.

"Dinner?" Sherlock asked, offering his arm.

"I could murder some chips," she replied with a smile, weaving her arm through his.

"I believe there's been enough murder for one evening," he said, returning her smile as they walked down the street.

"But not enough running."

She gave him that wicked smile as she took his hand and before he could question her she bolted down the street laughing. He couldn't help joining her because he was just so glad she was alive. They were stopped a moment later as a familiar black car parked at the end of the street. She seemed to recognize it too as she drew to a halt.

The window rolled down, revealing Mycroft. His brother gave them a distasteful glance.

"Something wrong?" Mycroft asked.

"Nope," Rose replied.

"Why, pray tell, were you running?"

"For fun."

"Fun?" his brother asked, as if he'd never heard of such a thing.

"Don't worry, Mycroft, it's something you would never understand," Sherlock said.

His brother eyed him.

"Everything's fixed then?"

He glanced at Rose and then back to Mycroft.

"She's staying, if that's what you're asking."

His brother smiled.

"Good. Very good."

He knew Mycroft was pleased, not because he cared about Rose, but because he cared about the information she supplied him with. Sherlock didn't like the idea of her having to give his brother information, information that she said could be dangerous. He knew she did it because she needed an identity and Mycroft used that to get what he wanted.

"Unfortunately, she's going to be unable to supply you with any more information."

Mycroft's entire demeanor changed.

"I'm sorry?"

"The device the information was stored on was destroyed."

"Destroyed? How could you let that happen?" his brother yelled.

"It wasn't Sherlock's fault. It was mine," Rose said and he knew she was saying it to keep the peace between them, but there had never been much peace between them.

"Well, that does change things," Mycroft replied.

He knew where his brother's train of thought was leading.

"How so?" he asked.

"It'll be difficult for me to maintain her identity without some sort of compensation."

He caught Mycroft's gaze and held it.

"You will maintain her identity and you'll do it without compensation. Furthermore you won't bother Rose again about your silly little assignments."

His brother gave him an amused smile.

"Is that so?" Mycroft asked.

"Yes," he insisted.

"And why, exactly, would I do that?"

"Because, brother dear, you forget that you have secrets of your own. You wouldn't want them to get out, now would you?"

A bit of fear flitted through Mycroft's eyes.

"Excuse me?"

Sherlock smiled.

"What was his name again? Mr. Bigglsworth, wasn't it?"

Mycroft's eyes widened.

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

"Fine, Sherlock, you win. For now."

Mycroft's window went up and a moment later the car pulled out. Rose leaned against his arm. He glanced at her and caught the smile she was giving him.

"Mr. Bigglesworth?" she asked.

"A stuffed bear our mother bought him for his fourth birthday. He slept with it every night."

"A lot of little kids have stuffed animals."

"Mycroft still has him."

She started laughing and he joined her. As they continued down the street Sherlock couldn't help thinking that for the first time in his life he was happy.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


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